


hit you like a shotgun shot to the heart

by televangelists



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/F, Road Trip, getaway car au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:15:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24322639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/televangelists/pseuds/televangelists
Summary: Faith turns back to her with a smile on her face, and Buffy’s hand is still on her wrist, and it feels like the beginning of something.(Later, Buffy will realize that it was the beginning of everything.)[Buffy Summers is a reluctant criminal, and Faith Lehane is the woman who steals her heart.]
Relationships: Faith Lehane/Buffy Summers, Tara Maclay/Willow Rosenberg
Comments: 9
Kudos: 77





	hit you like a shotgun shot to the heart

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is kind of like if faith and buffy were the protagonists of baby driver (2017) and taylor swift used clips from the movie as the music video for getaway car. also, faith and buffy are simply endgame and that's that on that. the playlist for this fic is [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5WOYq0plOwfCDoIre85f1f?si=gAHtblvuQnSA5QKE4IHcMw)

The night smells like smoke.

Buffy frowns as Spike takes another drag from his cigarette, the smoldering end glowing orange against the darkness. “Do you have to do that? You’re making the whole place smell smokey.” 

Spike raises an eyebrow. “Think it’s my cigarette making the joint smell, do you? No chance it’s coming from the warehouse we just set on fire then?”

“Maybe,” Buffy admits. “But still. You shouldn’t smoke those things all the time. You’ll get cancer.”

“You’ve been telling me that since we met, love,” Spike drawls. “Haven’t dropped dead yet, have I?”

Buffy shrugs. “Whatever. It’s your lungs on the line, not mine. Where are we going now?”

Spike is already walking towards their car - his car - with the heavy bag of valuables they took from the warehouse slung over his shoulder. “Dunno, but we better hop it. The blues are onto us already.” Buffy listens closely and finds that he’s right; the sound of distant sirens is already cutting through the night. She gets into the car and slams the door shut.

As Spike’s black ‘69 Camaro peels away from the curb with a screech of tires and a plume of exhaust, Buffy looks out the window at the burning warehouse. The orange flames are so bright, it’s almost blinding. 

Spike lights up another cigarette, letting go of the wheel and letting the car swerve across lanes of traffic as they tear up the highway entrance ramp. “How many jobs is that for us now? At least forty, I reckon.”

“Thirty seven,” Buffy mutters, barely loud enough for Spike to hear. 

Spike slaps the wheel triumphantly. “Thirty seven. Thirty-bloody-seven. And every single one of them a smashing success.”

Buffy doesn’t answer, just leans her head against the cool glass of the window and shuts her eyes. She can still see the afterimage of the flaming warehouse on the inside of her eyelids.

“Success is a relative term,” she whispers. 

This time, Spike doesn’t hear her.

//

Buffy meets Spike when she’s eighteen. 

It’s soon after her mother dies. She's waiting tables at the Sunnydale Café, spending her days in a restaurant instead of a college classroom, trying desperately to make ends meet so that she can still eat. 

It’s exhausting and often embarrassing, the fact that she’s working while all her friends are taking classes. It’s hard to see the poorly concealed looks of pity on their faces when they think she’s not looking.

And it’s especially annoying when she has to deal with obnoxious assholes from high school who only got into UC Sunnydale because their fathers were rich. 

“What can I get you, sir?” she asks the blonde man sitting alone in the corner booth, pretending that she doesn’t hear the catcalling from the boys at table five. She grits her teeth, her anger rising with every comment.

The man looks up at her, eyebrows raised. “Those lads over there are friends of yours, are they?” His accent is unmistakably British, a rare thing to hear in Sunnydale.

“They’re not my friends.”

“Then why aren’t you telling them to sod off?”

Buffy clutches her notepad harder. “I can’t. I’m working.” 

“Well, I’ll do it for you then,” the man says, sliding out of his booth and walking over to the table of frat boys. Buffy watches, confused, as he starts talking to them. Rather than looking mad, the boys start smiling, and one of them even hits the blonde man on the back in a friendly sort of way. 

“There, then,” he says to Buffy when he comes back, sitting down at the booth again. “That’s them sorted.”

“What - ” Buffy’s mouth is hanging open in shock. “Nothing’s _sorted_. By the look of things, you just became friends with them.”

“That’s what they think,” he replies, opening his menu. “Meet me at UC Sunnydale’s Alpha Phi house for the frat party tonight and you’ll get to give them what they deserve.” 

Buffy stares at him. “Like I’m going to trust you? I don’t even know you.” 

The man looks around the restaurant. “Charming little place, innit? Bet you it doesn’t pay too well.”

“What’s it to you?”

“Show up tonight. It’ll be worth your while. Trust me, you’ll be rolling in money - and it’ll all be coming out of their pockets.”

Buffy looks over at the table of frat boys, wondering if this man’s promise is too good to be true. Living on her own has taught her that she can’t trust anyone.

“Come on,” the man says, leaning over the table towards her. “Don’t you want a way out of this godforsaken town? It’s positively dismal. I can get you out.”

Buffy thinks about it. She thinks about staying in Sunnydale, living the same dreary life until she dies, and she realizes that there’s nothing here for her anymore except haunting memories of her mother and the life she once had. 

She realizes that despite the danger of going along with a strange man she only just met, she’s not worried. She doesn’t even care what happens to her, as long as she can get out. 

“I’m in,” she says. 

The man smiles, extending his hand to her. “Shake on it. By the way, what’s your name?”

“Buffy. What’s yours?” 

“Spike.”

That night, they leave the frat party with their pockets full of money stolen from members of Alpha Chi and their bags full of liquor that Spike took from the drinks table. They drive out of Sunnydale at ninety miles an hour, and Buffy feels an overwhelming sense of relief as the town disappears in the rear view mirror.

“So, Buffy,” Spike says as they speed along the highway. “You’re not half bad at pinching things. Think you’d fancy a full-time job?”

Buffy looks at him, this sharp, selfsure man who’s just rescued her from a town worse than hell and given her more money than she’s ever had in her life, and knows what she has to say.

“Yes.”

Spike smiles at her, and when he leans in to kiss her, Buffy doesn’t know how to refuse.

//

“We should be safe here,” Spike says, jolting Buffy’s thoughts back to the present. He’s pulling the car into a Holiday Inn parking lot.

The hotel concierge barely glances at them when Spike hands him money for the room, but then he raises his head, sniffing the air slightly. “Sir, please keep in mind that we do not permit smoking in the rooms.”

“Right,” Spike says scornfully. “Wouldn’t want to start a fire or anything.” He snatches the key card from the man behind the desk and starts towards the elevators, Buffy following him slowly. 

Their room is large and fancily furnished - evidently Spike paid extra for one of the higher end rooms. When Buffy looks into the ornately tiled bathroom, she sees a Jacuzzi sitting in the corner, the cover half folded back to show the steaming water.

Spike falls onto the king-size bed, not even bothering to take off his long leather jacket, and starts snoring. Buffy watches him for a moment, but feels no inclination to join him. Instead, she crosses the room and quietly slides open the door to the balcony.

The coldness of the late February air hits her like a knife, but Buffy doesn’t care. She leans against the railing, staring at the lights of cars rushing by on the highway, and wonders what exactly it is that she’s doing with her life.

She can’t just run around with Spike forever. Sooner or later, she’s going to have to find a new way to live, a source of income that isn’t stealing and sabotaging. Sure, sometimes she enjoys the thrill of a successful heist or an impossible escape, but sometimes the guilt is crippling - and sometimes it’s dangerous. They’ve had a lot of close calls. 

Their luck has held out for over a year, but it’s only a matter of time. Buffy knows that someday she’ll have to leave Spike. 

Sometimes when he kisses her, she wishes that she’d left him a long time ago.

Her hands are starting to go numb in the cold; she walks back into the hotel room and gets into bed, making sure to leave as much space as possible between herself and Spike.

//

They stay in the hotel for three days, and then Spike decides it’s time for another job. 

“Here,” he says one night as they’re eating food from room service, unrolling a street map of Huntsville, Alabama. “This bank here on the corner. We’re robbing it.”

Buffy squints at the map. “Yeah? What makes this one so special?”

“One, it’s not far from us. Two, it’s a _bank_ , Buffy. What in the bleeding hell makes a bank special? Money. That’s it.” Spike picks up a red pen and circles the bank, starts tracing routes along the streets surrounding it. “Tomorrow we’re going to case the joint, scope out the specs. You can buy the stamps. I’ll check round back.”

Buffy wants to protest. She wants to list a dozen reasons why this is dangerous and unnecessary. She wants to tell Spike that he’s a fool, that they can’t pull a robbery four days after setting fire to a warehouse not even twenty miles from where they are right now.

She wants to say so many things, but she doesn’t. By now, she knows better. 

“Sounds like a plan,” she says finally, giving Spike a smile that she hopes he can’t see through.

//

“Next, please.”

Buffy steps up to the bank’s counter. The middle aged woman sitting behind it smiles at her politely. “What can I get you today?”

“I just want to change a twenty for tens,” Buffy says, her eyes flicking in all directions to take in the bank’s security system. She counts a total of five cameras and two guards in the immediate area. Each guard has a pistol hanging from his belt, but neither of them look like trained fighters.

“Here you go,” the woman says, handing two tens over the counter. “Oh, this twenty dollar bill is funny. Someone’s put a little smiley face sticker on it, see?”

“Is that a problem? Do you need me to take it back?”

“No, no,” the woman laughs. “I just think it’s cute. My kids do that all the time.”

Buffy had been turning to leave, but this stops her. She looks up at the woman. “You have kids?”

“A three year old and a four year old.” The woman smiles fondly. “They can be a pain but I wouldn’t trade them for the world.”

Buffy feels a dull pain in her stomach, like some part of her is suddenly missing. “That’s wonderful,” she says quietly. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful mother.”

“I’d like to think so,” the woman replies. “Anyways, you have a good day now, okay?” She locks eyes with Buffy as she says this, conveying a sincere message rather than a cursory comment. 

Buffy slips the ten dollar bills into her pocket and walks out of the bank, her heart aching for reasons not quite known to her.

//

The black Camaro pulls up to the curb outside the bank, engine rumbling quietly. Spike parks, handing her a mask and gloves before pulling on his own. “You know your job, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Buffy mutters. “Let’s get this over with.” She and Spike get out of the car, leaving it running with the driver’s side window down. 

They walk into the bank and Spike wastes no time in firing the first shots, taking out the cameras one by one. Plaster falls from the walls as people start screaming. Buffy ignores the noise; she leaps over the counter and pulls out the drawers of money, stuffing stacks of bills into a black bag. 

Spike’s fighting the guards now, putting both of them down with a few punches. Buffy sweeps more money into the bag, pushing aside the petrified tellers as she goes. She can feel her mask starting to slip, but she ignores it. And then suddenly she’s brought to a halt.

She finds herself face to face with the teller from yesterday, the one who changed her twenty dollar bill and talked about her children. The woman is shivering, eyes wide with fear, and she stares right at Buffy in a terrified state of shock.

Buffy freezes on the spot, instinctively pulling out her gun. The woman’s eyes go even wider, and she opens her mouth in a silent prayer. 

“Joan!” Spike yells from the door, using his codename for her. She whips around to look at him, and feels her mask fall off completely. He curses and runs back to the car, jumping through the window and driving up the stairs to the door of the bank. “Move!”

Buffy knows she has to go, but for some deep inexplicable reason, she turns to face the woman once more. She knows it’s a mistake when the woman’s expression slowly turns to recognition.

“You…” the woman whispers. “You were here...yesterday...weren’t you?”

“Kill her!” Spike shouts. “You have to kill her, the mask’s off…” 

Buffy looks down at the gun in her hand, then back at the woman in front of her. 

“Please,” the woman says. “Please...I have children…”

Buffy’s finger tightens on the trigger for a fraction of a second and then she reverses her grip on the gun, grabbing the barrel and using it to hit the woman in the head. She slides to the ground unconscious as Buffy tucks the bag of money under her arm and runs for the door.

“What the fuck,” Spike yells, slamming his foot on the gas pedal as sirens start wailing nearby. “What the _fuck_ were you doing?”

“Get us out of here first, complain later,” Buffy yells back. “Keep your fucking priorities straight.”

“Oh, you’re a good one to talk,” Spike snarls, spinning the wheel and throwing the car into a one-eighty as a police car appears on the road ahead of them. “If we get arrested because of your stupidity, I swear my last act as a free man will be to beat the living shit out of you.” 

Buffy clenches her hands tightly around the handles of the money bag. “Just drive, Spike.”

“I should kick you out of this car and leave you on the side of the road to rot for what you just did,” he says. 

_Then do it_ , she wants to say. _At least it would be a way out of this._

//

They’re a state away, somewhere deep in Georgia, when Spike finally stops the car at a decrepit gas station. He goes inside to pay while Buffy remains motionless in the passenger seat, staring sightlessly out the window at the darkening night sky.

She knows that she’s put them both in danger, that the authorities will put out another warrant for them. She knows that the cops might be able to run facial recognition on her based off of eyewitness accounts. She knows that Spike has never been so angry with her before. 

She can’t bring herself to care. All she sees is the woman at the bank begging her to stop.

 _I must have seemed like a monster to her_. 

This is the downside of the job, the inevitable truth; no matter how many daring escapes or ingenious heists they pull off, sooner or later Buffy has to face the fact that she’s nothing but a danger to society. She’s the kind of person that no one wants to meet down a dark alley, the face behind the mask that haunts people’s nightmares.

She’s had these thoughts before, but they used to make her feel powerful. Back when she was barely eighteen and just beginning her life of crime with Spike, she felt unstoppable. 

Now, over a year later, she feels no power, only the crushing weight of tired guilt.

Spike comes out of the gas station carrying a carton of cigarettes, one already lit and dangling from his mouth. He gets in the car and throws the carton at her, reversing out of the station with quick, violent steps on the brake and gas pedals. 

Buffy doesn’t bother asking where they’re going now. Truthfully, she doesn’t really care. She just sits quietly and watches the scenery flash by as they drive.

Finally, Spike stops at a small, rundown motel. The neon sign out front is cracked and grimy, the letters ACANCY flickering weakly. The V is dark. 

“We’re staying here,” he says shortly. “No more fancy hotels. You’ve wrecked that for us now.”

Buffy shrugs. It doesn’t matter to her.

Spike keeps his head down while he talks to the clerk, and soon they’re standing in a decrepit room with a sagging bed and moth eaten curtains. Buffy can see a layer of dust almost an inch thick lying on the windowsill.

“This place is a bloody tip,” Spike complains. He stalks around the room, kicking at the worn carpet and muttering to himself under his breath. Buffy stays silent; she can tell that he’s about to lose his temper, and she’s really not in the mood to add more fuel to the fire.

Finally, Spike snaps.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he shouts, loud enough to make dust fall from the ceiling. “Why didn’t you finish the fucking job? You useless bitch, she was standing there unarmed, she couldn’t have stopped you. Now your neck’s on the line and mine will be too, and for what? All because you were too soft to man up for once and get the bloody job done.” 

Buffy lashes back before she can stop herself. “‘She was standing there unarmed’...that’s exactly the point, Spike! Do you really expect me to shoot a defenseless woman? One who has children, no less?.”

“I do expect that. You’re a criminal - that’s what criminals do.”

“In over a year with you I’ve never killed a single person, and why do you think that is? It’s because I’m a robber, not a murderer like you.” 

“Watch it,” Spike growls, stepping towards her until they’re standing face to face. His expression is a mask of anger. “Mind your place or I’ll put you in it myself.”

“Going to hit me, Spike?” Buffy asks with a derisive laugh. “Didn’t work out so well for you, the last time you tried it.” She reaches out and traces the scar slashed into Spike’s eyebrow, reveling at the flash of uncertainty in his eyes. 

“Whatever,” Spike scoffs. “I’m going to the bar. Try not to get arrested while I’m gone.” He grabs a stack of bills from Buffy’s bag and spits on the floor before walking out the door, slamming it shut with a resounding bang. 

Buffy lets out a long breath, sinking down onto the bed. Dust flies up from the blankets, but she lies back against the ragged pillows anyways. She stares up at the ceiling, looking for shapes in the water stained patches.

She doesn’t know what to do.

A year ago, Spike had seemed like the perfect escape. Now he feels like the thing that Buffy needs to escape from. She can’t pin down when it started exactly, but her feelings towards Spike have been shifting lately. Today was just the last nail in the coffin.

 _I want out_ , Buffy thinks. _There’s got to be something more than this. A different life. A better life. I may not deserve it, but that won’t stop me from wanting it._

She falls asleep with thoughts of escape spinning through her mind, and she doesn’t hear Spike stumble into the room drunk at three in the morning. Her dreams are full of terror, and a man in a black coat chasing her. Just before she wakes up, she sees a dark-haired girl standing in a bedroom, putting clean sheets on the bed. Buffy can’t see the girl’s face, but in that room, for the first time all night, she feels safe. 

//

Buffy wakes the next morning and rolls over to see Spike sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the small TV sitting on a table by the window. The footage on the screen is blurry and misshapen, but she recognizes the woman she sees.

It’s herself. 

“A robbery occurred at Huntsville Credit Union in Alabama yesterday,” the reporter is saying. “People are advised to be on the lookout for a brunette woman and her accomplice, who were involved in the robbery and are suspected to be involved in various other crimes perpetrated during the last year. The identities of the robbers are not yet known. It is expected that they will be quite far from Alabama by now, as they seem to make a habit of crossing many state lines after each crime they perpetrate…”

Spike turns towards her, his face set in a grim expression. “Well now you’ve done it,” he says. “They’re on the hunt for us. Fantastic.”

“I thought we got all the cameras.”

“Well clearly we didn’t, did we?”

“It says they don’t know our identities,” Buffy says weakly, clinging to the small amount of hope that she still possesses.

“They don’t know our identities _yet_ ,” Spike snaps, pounding a fist against the mattress. “They’ve got your look down pretty well.”

“There’s tons of brunette women,” Buffy protests. “It’ll be hard for them to pick me out of a crowd just going by that.”

“Yeah well, we’re going to make it harder for them.” Spike jerks his chin towards a plastic bag sitting on the end of the bed. “D’you know how to use hair dye?”

Buffy looks inside the bag. “Permanent dye? Spike - ” 

“Go on, then.” Spike waves towards the tiny bathroom.

Buffy shuts the bathroom door behind her, and stares into the mirror. Her brunette reflection stares back at her. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she mutters, and pulls the can of bleach out of the bag. 

//

Thirty minutes later Buffy emerges from the bathroom, her now-blonde hair wet and dripping onto her shirt.

Spike eyes her appreciatively. “I’ve always thought you’d look better as a blonde.”

Buffy just rolls her eyes. Secretly, she likes the change. When she’d first seen her new hair in the mirror, she’d hated it - it felt like the wigs that she had to wear for some heists, like she was pretending to be someone she wasn’t. But now she feels like it’s a good change. 

She doesn’t feel fake; she feels new. She feels like a different girl. A stronger one. 

And maybe new Buffy can be strong enough to leave Spike someday soon.

“Where are we going now?” she asks, running her hand through her hair. Drops of water go flying, soaking into the carpet and staining dark holes into it.

Spike puts on his coat, digging his car keys out of the pocket. “Well, there’s one thing we have to our advantage. They think we’re going far away from here. So we’re going to beat them at their own game.”

“You mean…”

“That’s right, love. We’re staying right here in Georgia. Better get out the peaches and sweet tea.”

Buffy picks up her bag, noticing as she does so that there are a few less stacks of bills inside it than there were last night. She turns to look at Spike, but he’s already out the door.

//

They drive through Georgia, and the days start to blend together. They fall into a pattern. It goes something like this:

After driving aimlessly all day, they stop for the night, find a shitty motel in a shittier town. They check in and Buffy sits in the room or walks around outside while Spike takes a couple stacks of bills and goes off to the motel bar. Buffy pretends she doesn’t notice when he comes back to the room late each night, reeking of alcohol with nothing but a couple dollars left. 

This goes on for about two weeks. Buffy starts to lose track of the days. She all but stops speaking to Spike. 

The news stories about them slowly stop.

The money in her bag keeps disappearing.

“You never say anything these days,” he comments one afternoon while they’re driving, cranking the volume on a radio station that he knows she hates.

Buffy just shrugs. She has nothing left to say to him.

//

Three days later, Buffy goes to get some money so she can buy a candy bar from the vending machine. When she looks into the bottom of her bag, she sees nothing but a crumpled five dollar bill and a handful of assorted coins. 

Frowning, she turns the bag upside and shakes it, looking for the rest of the cash. The coins spill out, rolling across the motel floor.

“This can’t be all that’s left,” she mutters to herself. 

The door swings open and Spike walks in, a bottle in his hand. “Hello there - oi, what’s wrong with you?”

Buffy lashes out at him, grabbing the front of his shirt with one hand and snatching the bottle away with the other. “Where’s the rest of our money, Spike?”

“Hold on a minute, will you?” Spike says irritably. “Give me my whiskey back.”

Buffy’s eyes flash dangerously. “I’m about to give it back to you by breaking this bottle over your fat head if you don’t cough up at least a few hundred dollars.”

“Alright, alright, don’t get all worked up.” Spike plucks the bottle from Buffy’s hand and takes a long drink. “Right, I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“Spike…”

“Bad news is, we’re out of money,” Spike says, holding a hand up to forestall Buffy’s angry yelling. “It’s unfortunate, but the good news is that I have an easy way to get some more.”

Buffy frowns. “Easy, huh?”

“Well, it’s another job.”

“Are you insane? We’re already on the cops’ watchlist and you think it’s a good idea to try another job only two weeks after we were spotted robbing a bank in broad daylight?”

“Wouldn’t have been spotted if you hadn’t gone and messed it up,” Spike says bitterly. “Anyways, this job is worth it. Even if it wasn’t, we need the money. Trust me.”

Buffy hesitates. She doesn’t trust Spike for a moment, but it’s true that they need more money. And if they pull off this job, maybe it somehow will give her an opportunity to ditch Spike.

“Fine,” she sighs. “What’s the job?”

Spike takes another drink of whiskey and eyes her with a roguish smile. “How do you feel about going to a ball?”

//

“This dress itches,” Buffy mutters, pulling at the edge of the knee-length black lace skirt. 

“It’s only for a few hours.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re just wearing a nice plain suit.” 

“You’ll survive.” Spike throws the end of his cigarette out the window and turns the last curve in the gravel driveway, and Buffy suddenly forgets to complain about her dress.

The estate house looms out of the night above them like some kind of mythical castle, every window lit with a warm golden glow. Faint strains of classical music drift out to the car, and Buffy can hear distant laughter.

“The Pickett estate,” Spike says quietly, his face alight with a mix of greed and awe. “This job could set us up for life, if we wanted…”

Buffy clears her throat. “We’re sticking to the plan.”

“Right,” Spike mutters, throwing her a nasty look. 

The black-suited valet shows them to a parking spot under the driveway lamps, and Spike offers his arm to Buffy as they walk towards the estate steps. “Well? Shall we, m’lady?”

Buffy rolls her eyes and places her fingertips on his arm, thankful that the white gloves she’s wearing allow her to do so without actually touching him. “Just remember your part.”

The door opens for them and a burst of music and laughter spills out into the night. From the grand entrance hall, Buffy can see an orchestra seated in the corner of the massive ballroom. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, shedding twinkling light down on the few people already dancing.

Spike hails a passing waiter in a black tux, taking two flutes of champagne from his tray. “To us,” he says, tapping his glass against Buffy’s before she can stop him.

She takes a sip of the champagne, and then sets the glass down. There’s no room for her to be drunk tonight. No room for Spike to be, either. “Don’t get wasted,” she cautions him.

“Bloody hell, woman,” he grumbles. “I’m not going to get pissed. I just want a few drinks.”

“Too bad,” she says. “Come on, let’s go.”

The next couple of hours pass in a blur, and before she knows it, the ornate gold hands of the ballroom clock are pointing to midnight.

Time for Buffy’s part.

She offers an apologetic smile to the man she’s been dancing with and slips off the dance floor, heading towards the staircase at the end of the ballroom. As she goes, she mentally replays the instructions Spike gave her.

_Up two flights. Left, right, left. Fourth room on the left. The safe is in the corner. It’s full of jewels. I’ll be up at 12: 05 to help you get everything and then we’ll go out the window. It’s not a far drop to the porch roof._

The lush carpet on the hallway floor muffles Buffy’s steps as she approaches the fourth door on the left. She eases the door open, cautiously waiting to see if the hinges squeak. The door swings open silently, and she slips inside the dark room with a smile. She hadn’t dreamed that it would be this easy.

She crosses the room to the corner where the safe is supposed to be, and freezes.

There’s already somebody here.

A dark-haired girl is bent over in the corner of the room, spinning the combination dial for the safe with black-gloved hands. 

Buffy grabs a mug from the desk in the center of the room, preparing to knock the girl out if that’s what it takes to get to the safe. She raises the mug over her head...

...and suddenly finds herself pinned against the wall by the dark-haired girl, an arm against her throat. The mug is twisted out of her hands.

“Who the hell are you?” the mystery girl asks in a raspy voice. 

“I could say the same to you,” Buffy says, gasping for breath. “What are you doing, assaulting innocent people?”

The girl laughs.“Innocent? You were about to rob that safe, weren’t ya?”

“You were robbing it first,” Buffy snaps. “Will you let go of me?”

The girl shrugs, taking a step back and letting Buffy catch her breath. Now that she’s not too busy choking to death, she can see that the girl is taller than her, with long wavy dark hair and eyes that shine hazel-brown even in the dark of the room. She’s wearing a black tuxedo and black pants like the waiters downstairs, and they fit her very well. Buffy bites her lip unconsciously, her eyes trailing down the girl’s body.

A familiar voice sounds from the doorway. “Well, well. What’s all this?” 

“Spike,” Buffy says. “As you can see, we have unexpected company.”

The dark-haired girl cocks an eyebrow at them. “Look, I don’t know about y’all, but I’m here for one thing only and I’m not leaving without it.”

“Going to steal our loot, were you?” Spike asks, taking a step into the room.

“It's Pickett's loot. Not for long, though.”

Spike takes another step. “Well now, this is going to be a problem. You see, we’re here for those jewels too.”

The girl cracks her knuckles. “Ya know what? How bout we both grab the jewels and blow this joint now? We can figure out the rest later.” She bends down and spins the dial one more time; the safe door swings open, and she reaches in to grab a handful of jewelry. 

Spike and Buffy exchange a look and shrug before taking some jewelry for themselves. Buffy stashes her share in the bag she has hidden in her dress, while Spike stuffs his in the pockets of his suit jacket. 

“Y’all got wheels?” the girl asks, opening the window. 

“Yeah,” Buffy answers before Spike can speak. “Vintage ones too.” For some reason, she feels the urge to impress this girl.

“Cool. Let’s move.” The girl shoots Buffy a wink before jumping out the window, and Buffy feels a shiver run through her entire body.

“Well, are we going?” Spike asks impatiently after a moment. Buffy realizes that she’s standing dumbly in the middle of the room, staring after the dark-haired girl.

“Yeah,” she says, shaking her head quickly. “Let’s go.”

//

The vintage Camaro rolls to a stop in the parking lot of the Sea View Motel, and three people dressed in black get out.

“That’s a fine car,” the dark-haired girl comments, and Spike smirks. Buffy feels an irrational prickle of annoyance at the prospect of them getting on well.

“Hey, so what’s the plan?” she interrupts. “Are you going to stick with us, or what?”

The girl shrugs. “I might if there’s room for me. Kinda got the impression that you two were working the dynamic duo thing.”

“Now, now,” Spike says. “There’ll always be a place in the crew for a woman like you.” His eyes roam over the girl’s body, clearly checking her out. Instead of jealousy, Buffy feels a surge of protectiveness towards the girl. She wants to black both of Spike’s eyes and see how well he objectifies women _then_. 

The girl smiles. “Yeah? Well then I figure I’ll hang around for a bit.”

“Hey, I just realized,” Buffy says. “We don’t even know your name.”

“I don’t know yours either,” the girl points out.

“Ah,” Spike says, glancing over at Buffy. “Well, I’m Spike, and this is Joan - ”

“Buffy,” Buffy says, cutting Spike off. “I’m Buffy.” She has no idea why, but she wants this girl to know her real name. Wants to know how it’ll sound in her voice.

The girl smiles. “Buffy, huh? Hell of a name. I’m Faith.” She holds out her hand. Buffy takes it, and the feel of Faith’s hand in hers is better than the adrenaline rush from any bank robbery.

//

“So you guys drive around the country doing crime? Must be a hell of a gas bill,” Faith says. “You’re what, like Bonnie and Clyde or something?”

It’s almost midnight, and they’re sitting on the curb outside the motel. Spike is off at the bar again, but Buffy doesn’t mind. In fact, she likes it better this way. She wants a chance to figure Faith out in her own way, without Spike interfering.

“Pretty much,” Buffy says. “Except without the whole couple thing.”

Faith frowns. “So you and Spike aren’t…”

“No. Well, not really. It’s complicated.” Buffy sighs, scraping at the pavement with her shoe. “Sometimes we...but I don’t want to be with him. Not like that.” _Not at all._

“Gotcha,” Faith nods. “I used to be in a situation like that.”

Buffy looks over at her curiously. “Really? What happened?”

“It was in high school,” Faith says slowly. “Junior year, I was with this senior guy. I didn’t really want to be, but he gave me free stuff, cause his dad was the manager of the CVS. I went along with it cause I didn’t have any money.” 

Buffy waits, and Faith pulls out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one. Even though Buffy always hates it when Spike smokes, she can’t help but stare at the cigarette between Faith’s lips. 

“Eventually I got sick of it, you know? I couldn’t take it another day, even if I did lose out on getting all that free shit. It was just like...every time he touched me, it felt wrong.” 

“I know the feeling,” Buffy says quietly. 

Faith blows out smoke. “So I dumped him, and that’s when my dear old ma got the idea that I needed salvation or some shit. Apparently if I wouldn’t stick with a ‘nice guy’ like that, there had to be something wrong with me. I got shipped off to conversion camp.” 

Buffy stares. “Conversion camp? Like... _conversion_ camp?” 

“Yeah, in Alabama. I ran away after two weeks. I’ve just been hitchhiking around since, stealing shit cause I got no money.” 

“Wait, but if you got sent away…” Buffy pauses. “I mean, are you...do you...?” She’s suddenly aware of how close Faith is sitting, and Buffy’s brain is starting to short-circuit at the thought that she might...

Faith’s eyes meet hers for a second, then flick away. “Oh, great. You think I need salvation too, huh?” She stands and stubs out her cigarette, tucking the end into her pocket instead of throwing it in the gutter. “It’s getting late. We should go to bed.”

“No, wait,” Buffy says, scrambling to her feet. “That - that’s not what I meant.” She reaches out for Faith, putting her hand on the other girl’s wrist, and Faith softens at her touch. “Thank you for telling me.”

Faith turns back to her with a smile on her face, and Buffy’s hand is still on her wrist, and it feels like the beginning of something.

(Later, Buffy will realize that it was the beginning of everything.)

//

The three of them keep driving through Georgia for the next week, and they form a new routine.

Spike always drives. Faith and Buffy switch off being in shotgun, and they take turns searching the radio for a song that they think the other will like. When Buffy is in the backseat, she sits on the left side so that she can watch Faith laughing and joking in the passenger seat.

They eat at diners and fast food restaurants almost every day. At night, Spike goes off to the bar, and Faith and Buffy spend the night talking or just sitting in comfortable silence together. 

They keep stopping at shitty motels, and Faith always gets a single room. Buffy shares with Spike, always sleeping as far from him as she can. That line between them is firmly drawn.

It doesn’t stop Faith from coming into Spike and Buffy’s room, though.

“I swear to god this bed is at least fifty years old,” Faith says, sitting on the edge of their bed and bouncing up and down experimentally. The springs squeak louder than a family of psychotic mice. 

“Yeah,” Buffy says, looking around the room with distaste. “I hope these walls are thicker than they look. Otherwise you’re going to hear it every time one of us rolls over tonight.”

Faith quirks an eyebrow at her. “Or I’m going to hear it when those bedsprings start squeaking for a different reason.” 

Buffy flinches. “Oh god, no. That will not be happening.”

Faith tips her head to the side questioningly. “So you and Spike haven’t been getting it on after I go to bed?”

“ _No_ ,” Buffy says emphatically. “I told you, we’re not together. He hasn’t tried anything in ages, anyways.”

“Weird,” Faith comments. “If I were him, well...I’d be trying it every night.” She makes an exaggerated show of eyeing Buffy up and down, and Buffy rolls her eyes, pretending that her entire body isn’t suddenly burning when Faith looks at her like that.

“Seriously though,” Buffy sighs. “This bed is going to suck. I’ll wake myself up every time I move. And Spike will definitely annoy me when he comes in late again.”

“Does he really walk in late every night?” 

“Drunk as fuck at one or three in the morning. Like clockwork.”

Faith hums in thought. “That’s gotta be annoying, right?”

Buffy laughs. “Uh, _yeah_. Losing sleep every night without even getting laid to make up for it? Sucks. Not that I want to do anything with Spike. I just think that the only good reason to be sleep deprived is, well, you know.” She blushes and looks away, because thinking about getting laid while looking at Faith is too much for her pulse to handle.

Thinking about getting laid _by_ Faith…

“Well,” Faith says, snapping Buffy out of her thoughts, “you can stay in my room if you want. The bed there doesn’t creak. I think there might be mice in the baseboards, though.”

“Me? Stay? In your room?” 

“Only if you want to,” Faith says quickly. “But it’ll solve your creaky bed springs problem. Won’t solve your wanting-to-get-laid problem, though. Unless you want me to lend a hand with that.” She smirks, and Buffy feels herself dissolve into a useless mess. 

“I’ll keep that offer in mind,” she says, trying to sound breezy and casual. “So, should I bring my own pillow to this sleepover?”

Faith smiles at her, and Buffy’s knees go weak. 

_This was such a bad idea._

//

“This was such a good idea,” Faith says.

They’re lying on their backs in Faith’s bed, side by side but with several feet of space in between them. Buffy simultaneously hates the space and needs it in order to keep her brain functioning.

“Right,” Buffy says. “Great idea. Takes me right back to middle school. All we’re missing is the chick flicks and a game of Truth or Dare.”

“We could play a round of Truth or Dare for old times’ sake,” Faith suggests.

Buffy laughs. “No thanks.” 

Faith pokes at her. “Hey, B?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you afraid of me or something? Why are ya ten feet away from me?”

Buffy exhales slowly. “I’m - I mean, I’m not - ” 

“C’mere,” Faith says, and the next thing Buffy knows, Faith’s body is pressed up against hers. She can feel Faith’s warmth and smell her perfume. 

It’s wonderful. It’s electrifying. It’s nothing like sharing a bed with Spike. 

“That’s better, right?” Faith says softly. 

As Buffy’s eyes start to close, she thinks _yes. Yes, it is._

When she wakes up in the morning, she’s completely wrapped up in Faith, their legs tangled together. Faith’s head is resting on her shoulder, and Buffy wants to freeze this moment and live in it for the rest of her life.

As she looks fondly at Faith’s sleeping face, Faith slowly opens her eyes. “Hey,” she says with a grin. “Better than sharing with Spike, right?”

“Hmm...” Buffy pretends to consider it for a moment. “I’m not sure. I think we’ll have to try it out for another night.”

Faith pushes her face into Buffy’s hair. “How about every night, then,” she says softly. “Just to be sure.”

//

And so it goes. Faith and Buffy end up sharing a room every night, while Spike drinks and gambles and sleeps alone. 

Somehow, this arrangement doesn’t seem to bother Spike at all. His lack of reaction to losing Buffy in his bed doesn’t exactly do wonders for Buffy’s self esteem, but she figures it’s more than worth it as long as she can wake up next to Faith every morning.

The three of them cross into South Carolina two weeks after Faith joins the crew. They haven’t done a job since the robbery that brought Faith to them, and there’s still plenty of money from the jewels that they stole. 

When they cross the state line, the windows are down and a classic rock song is blaring from the radio. Buffy is sitting in shotgun, and she turns to see Faith’s face, watches her brush the dark hair out of her eyes as she laughs at a joke that Spike made. Outside, the air is cold but the sky is clear, and there’s a fresh smell that hints at early spring. 

_Maybe I don’t have to escape anymore,_ Buffy thinks. _If this is my life now, I think I can live with it._

She still doesn’t really know where she stands with Faith. All she knows is that she’s never felt safer than she does when she’s in Faith’s arms. 

Ever since her mother died, Buffy hasn’t really allowed herself to hope for anything. It’s easier to avoid disappointment if your expectations aren’t high in the first place.

But just this once, she lets herself hope that this new life can last. 

She lets herself hope that Faith is hers for keeps.

// 

“Are we ever going to stop staying at shithole motels?” Faith grumbles. “Not to sound spoiled, but I’m tired of showering in spaces smaller than an airplane bathroom.” 

“Sorry, love,” Spike says, tossing her the room’s key card. “All about the low profile. This place has a pool, though.” 

“Great,” Buffy sighs. “A chance to sit in a cesspool of chlorinated chemicals that probably hasn’t been filtered in at least fifteen years.”

Spike frowns. “Don’t think you have to specify that the chemicals are chlorinated. Chlorine _is_ a chemical, innit?”

“Well, I’d hate to miss out on the cesspool,” Faith says. “Y’all wanna come with me?”

“We don’t have bathing suits,” Buffy reminds her.

Faith winks at her. “Not a problem, B. You in or not?”

“I’ll come,” Spike announces. They stare at him. Outside of the car, he hasn’t really spent time with them since they first started traveling together.

“Don’t you have something better to do?” Buffy asks. “Like drinking up half our money or gambling away the other half of it?” The words come out more sharply than she intended.

Spike points at her. “Watch your mouth,” he says, his voice suddenly low and dangerous. 

“Well,” Faith says, raising her eyebrows at Spike. “Come along if you want, Brit boy. The more the merrier, ya know.”

//

“I can’t believe this pool is heated,” Buffy says, dipping a toe into the warm water. “Can’t believe it’s even open in March.”

“To be fair, it wasn’t open until we took the cover off,” Faith says.

Buffy waves a hand. “Details.”

“Well, then,” Spike says, tossing down his latest cigarette. “Shall we get this show on the road?” He strips off his shirt and pants and jumps into the water with a splash.

Faith laughs and drops her shirt and pants as well, smirking at Buffy as she does so. Spike eyes her appreciatively, and Buffy wants to kill him for it, but she’s too busy trying not to drool. Faith’s body is perfect, and her curves…

“You gonna come in or what?” Faith asks, and Buffy realizes that she’s been staring instead of taking off her own clothes. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Buffy says quickly, shedding her clothes and getting into the pool. Faith’s eyes linger on her as she slides into the water, and Buffy is about two seconds from passing out. 

She really, really wishes that Spike was off in the bar getting plastered like usual.

The three of them float around peacefully for a little while, and then Spike breaks the silence.

“Alright,” he says. “As lovely as this is, I didn’t come out here just for a pool party. I have a proposal for you lot.”

Faith frowns. “Which of us gets the ring?”

Spike scoffs. “Very funny. I think we should do a job. I already have one scouted out. Not now; it would be in a week or two.”

“Why?” Buffy asks. “We have enough money, don’t we?”

“Course we do. That’s not the point. It’d be our first job together.”

Buffy looks over at Faith, but her expression isn’t giving anything away.

“Maybe you’re just worried that you’ll cock it up again,” Spike sneers. “That's why you’re hesitating, is it?”

“I’ll think it over,” Buffy says coolly, fighting the urge to hold Spike’s head under. 

“Me too,” Faith says. “Sounds like it could be kinda fun.”

“Alright,” Spike says, hauling himself out of the water. “You two think it over. I’m off to the bar.” He wraps his shirt around his waist and walks off, leaving a trail of water droplets on the tile behind him.

Faith reaches out and taps Buffy on the shoulder. Her touch burns against Buffy’s skin even in the still night water. “Hey. now that he’s gone, wanna try out the hot tub?” She points to a small built-in Jacuzzi at the far end of the pool, grabbing Buffy’s hand with a grin.

They settle into the hot tub, bubbles rising around them. For a moment, neither of them speak.

“What do you think we should do?” Buffy asks. “About Spike’s proposal, I mean.”

Faith shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve only been with you guys a couple weeks, but I don’t really trust him.”

“Don’t blame you,” Buffy sighs. “I’ve been with him for almost a year and I still don’t trust him.”

“That’s a long time,” Faith says, her voice full of something that Buffy can’t quite identify. 

“Yeah. At first it was good, but now…” Buffy trails her hands through the bubbly water. “I don't know. Sometimes I look at where I am in life and wonder how I even got here.”

Faith doesn’t say anything, so Buffy keeps talking.

“Spike saved me, in a way. He got me out of my old life. He took care of me when I needed it most. But now I don’t know how much of a savior he really was. I still don’t even really know much about him.”

“How can you not know stuff about him if it’s been almost a year?”

“He’s secretive,” Buffy says defensively. “I didn’t even know his real name until two months ago.”

“What is it?”

“William.” 

Faith laughs so hard that she inhales hot tub water, and Buffy playfully shoves her. “It’s not that bad.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Faith splutters, spitting out water. “Just - he doesn’t seem like the William type at all.” 

“I know. But I don’t really know anything else about him.”

Faith looks thoughtful. “Well, he’s British. Don’t know if ya noticed.”

Buffy laughs, looking over at Faith. Her skin is glowing in the blue light of the hot tub, and her hair is hanging in wet messy waves, and Buffy has never been so attracted to someone in her life.

“Can we not talk about Spike anymore?” she says. 

“Sure, B,” Faith replies. “What do ya wanna talk about, then?”

“I, uh,” Buffy says, trying not to stare at Faith’s chest. 

Faith seems to notice Buffy’s expression then, and she smirks, leaning towards Buffy. “Or if you want, we don’t have to talk at all.”

Buffy’s eyes are wide and her mouth is failing to form words, and she’s pretty sure it’s not just the water making her wet right now. Faith pushes her right up against the wall of the hot tub and Buffy’s brain shuts off completely.

“Tell me to kiss you,” Faith says, her voice quiet but demanding and so, so hot.

“Kiss me,” Buffy manages to whisper, and anything else she might have wanted to say is cut off by Faith’s lips pressing against hers. 

Buffy closes her eyes and melts into Faith, silently wishing that they could live right here, just the two of them, for the rest of their lives.

 _We’re the chosen two,_ she thinks. _The only two people on earth right now._

//

Buffy sits in shotgun, letting the cool air from the window blow her hair around wildly. The radio is playing a song she doesn’t like, but she doesn’t dare change the station in case it draws Spike’s attention to her.

It’s the morning after her kiss with Faith, and Buffy still feels electrified, like any bit of contact could set her on fire. She’s surprised that she doesn’t have sparks flying off of her.

She doesn’t know what Spike would do if he knew. Doesn’t know if he’d want to kill them or watch them. Either way, she’d rather die than let him find out. So she sits in silence, trying not to look at Spike in the driver’s seat or Faith in the rearview mirror.

“So what’d you two decide about the job?” Spike says, reaching for his lighter and another cigarette. 

“I think it’ll be fun,” Faith says with a barely concealed smirk. “Maybe not as fun as _some_ things I could name…”

“Great!” Buffy interrupts. “Job. Crime. Very good. Looking forward to it.”

“It’ll happen in about a week,” Spike announces. “The place is near the border of South Carolina and North Carolina.” 

“Got any more specifics?” Buffy asks, hoping she sounds nonchalant and unsuspicious. 

Spike shakes his head. “Plenty of time for that later.” He turns up the radio, a signal that the conversation is over. After a moment, Faith unbuckles her seatbelt and leans up into the front seat, switching the radio to a different station.

“What’s all this, then?” Spike asks as a different song pours out of the car’s speakers.

“Ah, no one really likes that other song,” Faith says lightly, brushing her hand against Buffy’s as she goes to sit down again.

Spike shrugs and keeps driving. Buffy smiles and tries to pretend that she’s not.

//

“Another day, another motel,” Faith sighs, tossing her bag at the bed and coughing at the dust that flies up.

“We’ll be getting our call from Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous any day,” Buffy says drily.

Faith flops back on the bed. “Guess I’ve stayed in worse places.”

Buffy throws open the closet door to reveal a moldy shirt hanging from the only hanger on the rack. “You’ve probably stayed in better ones too.”

“True,” Faith smiles, “but those ones didn’t have as good a view.” She stares pointedly at Buffy, and Buffy has to laugh.

“You’re shameless,” she says. “Come on, let’s check out the motel.”

Faith eyes the bed. “I’m sure there are better things we could do right now.”

“Oh, shut up. We’ll have time for that later. I wanna see if there’s anything cool here.”

“Great,” Faith mutters. “I’m sure the dusty rec room and broken ping-pong table here will be so different from the ones at the last five motels we’ve been to.”

Buffy rolls her eyes and yanks Faith off the bed.

//

Despite Faith’s complaints, the search of the motel is worth the time after all, because they find a kitchen next to the rec room.

“A _tiny_ kitchen,” Faith points out. “And I don’t think that these pots have been washed. Ever. The motel staff probably leaves them like that to see if anyone’s stupid enough to use them. Can unwashed dishes kill someone, ya think?”

“That’s like some kind of conspiracy theory,” Buffy says. “A plot to kill someone with pots. A pot plot.”

Faith snorts. “Sounds like some kinda weed advertisement now.”

“Anyway,” Buffy says, setting down the pot she’s holding. “The point is, there’s a kitchen. That means we can cook something.”

“You can cook?”

“Anyone can cook,” Buffy says impatiently. “You just have to throw the right things together and let them boil or whatever for the right amount of time…”

Faith wordlessly raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“Okay, so I don’t really know how to cook,” Buffy admits. “But I want to try anyway. I’m sick of having diner burgers for dinner every night. Before we started roughing it, Spike and I used to stay in nicer places, get nicer food. Sometimes it even had vegetables.”

“Vegetables are for rabbits,” Faith scoffs. “But fine. We’ll cook something. What do we need?”

“Well first of all, Spike’s car. No idea how we’ll swing that one, though.”

“You want his car? Done,” Faith says with a grin.

“What, you want to be the one to ask him for the keys? Better you than me.”

Faith frowns. “Who said anything about asking?”

//

“He’s gonna kill us,” Buffy says for the tenth time since they started driving.

Faith, sitting behind the wheel, turns to her. “Relax. The keys were just lying there on his bedside table and he wasn’t even in the room. Probably off drinking again.”

Buffy feels a wave of worry and fear rising up in her, but then Faith opens the glove compartment and slides Spike’s aviators onto her face, and suddenly all of Buffy’s brain is busy thinking about how ridiculously hot Faith is.

“Here,” Faith says, pulling into a plaza parking lot. “There’s a Whole Foods.”

“Isn’t Whole Foods for rich people?”

Faith slides a bag of money - Spike’s bag - over the console to Buffy. “Baby, we are rich people.”

“And they say crime doesn’t pay,” Buffy laughs, opening her door. 

Inside, the Whole Foods is bright and spacious, the aisles filled with young couples and college-age kids. It’s been so long since Buffy’s been to such a nice food place that she wants to walk through every aisle in the store.

“Okay,” Faith says, steering her down aisle 3. “What do you wanna make?”

“Faith, this is the candy aisle.”

“And?”

Buffy rolls her eyes. “We can get sweets _after_ we find the healthier stuff.”

“You’re no fun,” Faith pouts. “What do you want to get first, then?”

Buffy thinks it over for a moment. “Where’s the pasta?”

A few minutes later, they’re standing in the pasta aisle staring up at the rows and rows of different options. “I can’t believe mac n cheese is your healthy meal,” Faith laughs.

“Look, this one has spinach infusions in it. That’s healthy.”

“No way, B. I’m not eating a damn vegetable inside my pasta.”

Buffy puts the spinach back on the shelf and stands on her tiptoes to take down a box of mac and cheese with cartoon rabbit shaped pasta. “How about this?”

“Perfect. Better get two or three boxes, though.” Faith laughs again as Buffy tries to reach the rest of the boxes. “Ya need a stepladder?”

“Can’t you get them?” Buffy asks frustratedly. “You’re taller.”

“Yeah, but it’s not as funny this way.”

Buffy hits Faith with the box in her hand. “Get the other boxes for me or you won’t get any food.”

Faith grins goodnaturedly and reaches up to grab more boxes. Buffy watches her and thinks about how she wants Faith to always be there to reach the top shelf for her.

 _Do you think this could be our normal?_ she wants to ask Faith. _Do you wish it could be?_

Out loud, she asks, “Do you think that Spike’s noticed that we’re gone yet?”

Faith shrugs. “Maybe if we’re lucky, he’ll notice and get so angry that he pops a blood vessel.”

“At least that would be a way to get rid of him,” Buffy says. “What do you want for dessert?”

Faith leans in and kisses her, slow and sweet, right there in the middle of the store. Buffy closes her eyes, thinking about how she wants this - _this_ \- every moment of the day, and every day for the rest of her life, and five days after that.

“Got my dessert right there,” Faith says, pulling back and winking at Buffy, and Buffy knows that if Spike kills them for stealing his car, she’ll die a happy woman.

//

As it turns out, Spike did notice that they were gone.

(Buffy bitterly notes that this is the first time in months that he’s noticed anything about her.)

He’s standing in the motel parking lot, and as soon as they pull in, he’s at the driver’s side door, yanking it open, dragging Buffy out, throwing her to the ground.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” he says. Buffy can smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Get off me,” she snaps. “We went to get food. That’s it.”

“Went to get food in _my_ car. No one touches my car. You know that.” 

Buffy starts to get up and Spike pushes her down again. She hits the ground hard, and it doesn’t hurt as much as she thought it would, but the feeling of terrified anger inside her is worse than any cut or bruise.

“Spike, wait,” Faith says. “It was my idea.”

Spike acts like he can’t hear her. 

“You think you can just do anything you like now, do you?” he says, and he’s shouting now. “Think I don’t know that you two are off whoring around behind my back, planning to leave me, probably plotting to bleeding kill me for all I know…”

He grabs Buffy then, lifts her and starts pulling her towards the motel. Faith starts forward, her hands clenched into fists and her eyes full of fire, but Buffy holds up a hand to stop her.

“Faith, don’t,” she says hoarsely. 

She would rather let Spike beat her almost to death than watch him lay a hand on Faith.

Spike drags her into his room and shoves her towards the bed, pacing around the room. Buffy sits down, strangely detached from her fear now, thinking about how a few months ago they were in this same position in a different motel, dealing with a different problem.

She waits for Spike to speak, sitting quietly and calmly.

“Goddamn it,” Spike curses, punching the wall. Buffy watches as his fist sinks through the drywall and he yelps in pain. 

She’s never been more glad that he keeps his firearms in the Camaro, never in the hotel rooms.

“What are you doing?” he asks, glaring over at her. “You can’t leave me, Buffy. You know that. I know that. You can’t leave _me…_ ”

He stalks around the room, kicking chairs over. “You can’t leave me. You won’t leave me. I _made_ you, Buffy. You need me.”

Buffy keeps sitting, keeps waiting.

“Well, say something!” he shouts, and she finally does.

“I don’t want you, Spike,” she says. “And more importantly? I don’t _need_ you.”

Spike stares at her, and in that moment Buffy can’t see the man who rescued her from Sunnydale. All she sees is a dangerous, unstable shell of a person.

“Fine,” Spike says bitterly. “Fine, then. You aren’t coming with me anymore, but you’re not going anywhere, either.” He dangles his car keys in front of her face, then stuffs them in his pocket. “You’ll never get your filthy hands on these again. You’ll stay in this room until I decide what to do with you.”

Buffy watches as he walks out the door, and all she feels is an overwhelming sense of relief. 

Then the door lock clicks behind him.

Buffy races to the door and tries the handle. Nothing happens. 

“How the hell does that work?” she mumbles to herself. She shakes the handle, twisting it as hard as she can, and she’s just resigned herself to the fact that she’ll have to try and kick the door down when she hears a knocking coming from behind her.

She turns around and there’s Faith, pushing the cracked and dirty bedroom window open from the outside of the motel.

“Hey, girlfriend,” Faith says. “Bad time?”

//

“So he didn’t try and hurt you?” Buffy asks again.

Faith shakes her head. “I told you, I watched him go into the bar. He’ll be there for hours.”

Buffy slumps down on the curb. “Well, we can’t be here when he gets out. I have no idea what he’ll do to us. I’ve never seen him this bad. He might even try to kill us.”

“Emphasis on _try_ ,” Faith says. “Has he ever killed anyone? On your jobs, I mean.”

“Well, he’s shot a lot of people,” Buffy says. “I never saw them die, but I'm assuming they did." She pauses a moment. "I’ve never been able to shoot anyone, job or not.”

“I’ll kill him if he tries to hurt you again,” Faith says, her voice deadly serious. 

“I know,” Buffy says softly. “But I’d rather not give him the chance. I wish we could just get out of here.”

Faith smiles suddenly. “Well then, let’s do it.”

“You think we can find a bus station around here?”

“Why slum it with public transport when we have a vintage car?”

Buffy frowns in confusion. “Faith, we can’t take Spike’s car. He has the keys.”

“He may have the keys,” Faith says, “but you have me.”

Buffy watches in shock as Faith walks over to the Camaro, pokes at the door handle for a few moments, and pulls the door open.

Faith bends down to look at the wires under the dashboard. “You coming?”

“How do you know how to do this?” Buffy asks, climbing into the passenger seat and watching as Faith skillfully twists together a bunch of colored wires. The car engine roars to life, and Faith grins up at her.

“Used to help out at this auto shop in high school,” she explains. “Ready?”

As Faith backs out of the parking lot, Buffy reaches for her hand, and Faith laces their fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“If you can hotwire like that, then why didn’t you just steal all our shit and take off weeks ago?” Buffy asks. 

Faith gives her a look like she can’t believe how dumb that question was. “Cause I didn’t want to leave you, dumbass. Tonight was the first time that I was sure you’d come with me if I left.” She acts like it’s an obvious answer, and maybe it should have been to Buffy.

Faith turns on the radio as they merge onto the highway, filling the car with soft music. Buffy looks out through the windshield, watching the headlights of other cars flash by, and feels like the entire world is open to her.

The sky is dark but the future has never seemed so bright, and for the first time since before her mother died, Buffy feels like she’s right where she belongs. 

//

A few hours later, when the sun is just starting to come up, they cross over the border into North Carolina. Faith squeezes Buffy’s hand gently, points to the sign that says “Welcome to the Tar Heel State.”

“Where do you want to go next?” Buffy asks.

Faith taps the wheel thoughtfully. “I think it’d be nice to go ho- I mean, back to Boston. I had friends there before I left.”

Buffy nods. “Do you...do you think that your mother is still there?”

She instantly regrets asking, because Faith tenses up and lets go of her hand. “I don’t have a mother,” she says. “Wouldn’t count her as one, anyway. I never want to see her again.”

Buffy slides down in her seat. “I don’t have one either,” she says quietly. “Mine died when I was seventeen.”

“Aw shit, B,” Faith says, looking over at her. “Now I feel like an asshole.”

“No, it’s fine,” Buffy says, meaning it. “I just don’t think I ever told you that before.”

“You didn’t,” Faith confirms. “There’s still a lot we don’t know about each other, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” Buffy says. “We’ve got time.”

“All the time in the world,” Faith says, and when Buffy looks over at her, she’s smiling again.

//

They keep driving and time keeps passing. North Carolina turns into Virginia, and March turns into April. The days are longer and the air is warmer and life is better.

They’re still staying in cheap places, but as Faith points out, two star hotels are a step up from half-star motels. The truth is that Buffy doesn’t mind where they stay as long as she falls asleep next to Faith.

Faith and Buffy take turns driving, and Buffy revels in finally being the one behind the wheel of the Camaro after so many months of Spike telling her that she couldn’t drive. 

“He really never let you behind the wheel?” Faith asks one afternoon as they pull over at a roadside rest stop to switch places.

Buffy shakes her head. “Nope. Couldn’t trust a woman to drive, he said.”

“Goddamn misogynist,” Faith mumbles. “His loss. You look damn good behind the wheel.”

Buffy smiles a little at that, then leans back against the driver’s seat headrest and sighs instead of moving the car out of park. Faith looks at her carefully. “Alright B, what’s bothering ya?”

“Nothing,” Buffy says. “I just...I’m thinking about all that time I spent with Spike, and wondering how I let myself go along with it. I never hurt anyone, but I stole things all the time and set buildings on fire...and Spike, he just told me what to do and I did it, and I never questioned him…”

Faith unbuckles her seatbelt and leans over so that she can reach Buffy. “You didn’t hurt anyone, and you’re free from Spike now.” 

“I know, but - ”

“And,” Faith says, “you stole some stuff. So what? I did too. It was what we had to do to get along.”

“I guess,” Buffy says. “I just don’t want to be a criminal anymore, you know? I want to look at the future and see actual possibilities in front of me. I want a life that’s truly worth living.”

“Then that’s what you’ll get,” Faith says. “That’s what _we’ll_ get.”

Buffy smiles at her, then looks around the Camaro. “Kinda wish we had a different car. This one’s got too many bad memories attached.”

Faith idly opens the glove compartment, pokes at the papers and cigarettes inside. With a jolt, Buffy realizes that she’d quit smoking a few weeks back. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Buffy says. “Spike was such a control freak about this car. No messes, no dirt, no scratches on the paint. Only he was allowed to drive. Cigarette packs in every corner…”

“So you never…” Faith casts an eye towards the backseat, and Buffy blushes as she gets her meaning. 

“Never. Not that I ever wanted to anyway.”

Faith raises an eyebrow. “So what I’m hearing is, the backseat is unspoiled.”

“Right.”

“I think it’s high time we fixed that,” Faith says, flashing Buffy a look that makes her knees weak. Faith climbs into the backseat and lies down, propping her head against the back door’s armrest. “Coming?”

“Well, not yet,” Buffy laughs, undoing her seatbelt and joining Faith in the backseat. “But I will be soon.”

Faith rolls her eyes. “How’d I end up with such a comedian as a girlfriend?"

A few minutes later, Buffy is on her back and staring up at the Camaro’s roof as Faith settles between her legs, and pretty soon she’s forgotten everything she ever hated about the car.

//

They’re near the border of Delaware and Virginia when they finally start driving along the coast. Buffy’s behind the wheel, and she watches fondly as Faith rolls down the window as far as it’ll go and sticks her head out to breathe the salty air.

“You’re a beach girl, huh?” she says, slowing the car down a little.

“Yeah,” Faith sighs. “My mother took me to the beach once, when I was little, before she - anyways, I’ve always liked the ocean. Just don’t get to see it much.” She pulls herself back inside the car and stares out at the waves, her expression a mixture of wistfulness and joy. Buffy wonders what she felt all those years ago at the beach with her mother, wonders if she felt safe the way Buffy does now with Faith by her side and the ocean all around them.

It’s then that Buffy gets an idea.

//

“You’re really not gonna tell me where we’re going?” Faith asks.

“No, and stop asking. We’ll get there when we get there.”

“I still can’t believe you blindfolded me,” Faith says, tugging at the black cloth wrapped around her eyes. “Kinda kinky, B.”

Buffy pulls Faith’s hand away from the blindfold. “Maybe that’s what you’re into, but not me. Stop messing with it and have some trust in me. Have some blind faith.”

“ _You_ already have a blind Faith,” Faith sighs, crossing her arms and sliding down in her seat. “Fine, I trust you.” 

Buffy turns the corner and suddenly they’re in view of the water, with brightly painted houses lining both sides of the street and a faded boardwalk stretching out along the beach. There’s a small park between a few houses, the grass and trees just starting to turn green again, and a coffee shop with a surfboard-shaped menu sign propped out front. Buffy pulls into the driveway of a tall white house with sea green trim and shutters, parking in the gravel lot next to the yard.

“Okay, you can take off the blindfold,” she says.

Faith rips the black cloth away from her face and looks around, taking in the beach and the trees and the clear blue sky. “B, where are we?”

“Rehoboth Beach, Delaware,” Buffy answers. “You love the ocean, so I figured you’d like to stay in a beach town for a while.”

Faith looks at her without saying a word, and Buffy’s just starting to wonder if she’s done the wrong thing when Faith unbuckles her seat belt and climbs over into the driver’s seat to hug her.

“Thank you,” Faith mumbles against her neck. “This is the nicest thing that anyone’s ever done for me.” 

Buffy smiles. “You going soft on me, Faith?”

“Never,” Faith says, letting go of her. “Let’s motor.”

They stumble out of the car and stand leaning on each other, staring out at the ocean on this cloudless spring day, and Buffy notices how the line between the sea and the sky blurs and melts together on the horizon, like they can’t bear to be apart.

 _Maybe I’m the sky,_ she thinks, _and maybe Faith’s the sea. Each powerful and limitless, each so bound to the other that they can never be apart._

She closes her eyes and wishes for it to be true.

//

Their rented room is on the top floor of the house and painted a pale blue that makes Buffy feel as calm as the water on a windless day. There are white curtains for the windows and a large bed and a bathroom just down the hall, and best of all, a staircase that leads up to a rooftop deck. A widow’s walk, the owner of the house explained to them. 

Faith throws open the windows as soon as they set down their bags, letting the cool sea breeze fill the room. Buffy sits down on the bed, glad to discover that for once there are no creaky bed springs or moth eaten pillows. 

“This place is great,” Faith says. “Feel like it’s the vacation I never really had.”

“Me too,” Buffy says. “We never really had the money to go anywhere.”

“And look at us now,” Faith says with a smile. “Here we are.”

“Here with stolen money,” Buffy notes. 

Faith sits down on the bed next to her, wraps an arm around her. “Hey, it’s all good. We’re still running through the Pickett money, and those douchefucks were richer than rich. It’s not like we took it from people who actually need it.”

“True,” Buffy admits. “Still, I’d feel better if we started actually earning some of our income someday.”

“We will,” Faith says. “Maybe we can even start here.”

“I think we do start here,” Buffy says, and she’s not just talking about earning money anymore.

Faith considers that for a moment, her smile softer than Buffy’s ever seen it, and nods her head. “I think we do, too.”

//

“Are we seriously here for breakfast?” Buffy asks as they walk by the surfboard menu that she saw earlier. “Coffee isn’t exactly the healthiest of the four food groups.”

Faith glances over her shoulder, pushing the door open. “Come on, B. They got pastries and shit too. I just want some espresso.” 

Buffy watches as Faith steps up to the counter and hands over a stack of bills, getting a bag of scones and pastries and two coffee cups in return. She carries everything to a table by the open window, waving Buffy over. 

“Here,” Faith says, handing Buffy one of the cups and pushing a croissant towards her. “Happy?”

Buffy watches Faith take a sip of her coffee, admires the way that the sunlight streams through the open window and makes her shine like gold. She savors the feelings of warmth and normalcy that she gets from this, the simple yet beautiful pleasure of sitting in the sun with the girl she loves and knowing that they have nothing but time together.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I am.”

//

The days that they spend in the beach town are some of the best of Buffy’s life. It’s like she’s living inside a dream that, for once, hasn’t turned into a nightmare.

She and Faith walk along the beach, laze around in the park, explore the streets full of shops like they have all the time in the world. They find the best places to eat, the prettiest gardens to look at, the biggest waves to watch crashing against the sandy shore.

Even though it’s only late April and the water’s still freezing, Faith drags Buffy into the ocean, making fun of her for being a California girl who can’t handle a little cold. Buffy screams like she’s being murdered when Faith first pushes her in, but over time she learns to enjoy it. She tries not to admit it, but judging by the smirk on Faith’s face, she already knows. 

They make their way back to the room with sandy feet and windswept hair and wash it all off in the shower together. Faith always makes the same joke about water conservation, and Buffy points out that the other activities they get up to in the shower probably mean that they’re using more water than they would if they showered separately.

At night, they wrap themselves in blankets and go up to the rooftop deck, and Faith renames the stars while Buffy makes up stories about the constellations.

Buffy is so happy that she can physically feel it sometimes. It’s like she’s carrying a light around inside of her, a ball of warmth and contentment that beats like a second heart. 

She wonders if this is what it feels like to be in heaven. She wonders if maybe she’s there already, if heaven really is a place on earth the way they say it is in that old song.

“You know, B,” Faith says one night. “I’m really happy here.” 

They’re lying in bed together, blankets pulled up, windows thrown open to the night breeze. Buffy rolls over on her side to face Faith.

“I know,” Buffy answers. “I can tell. I am, too.”

“No, but it’s like...” Faith pauses, and Buffy can tell that she’s struggling a little with what she wants to say. Being open and emotional isn’t one of Faith’s strengths and probably never will be, so Buffy doesn’t hold it against her, just waits patiently.

“I’m happy here, and I’m allowing myself to be,” Faith says at last. “For pretty much all my life, I never really felt like I could let myself be happy. I dunno, maybe it was cause of all that shit with my mom drinking and my dad leaving and me being miserable and confused about what I like...every time I felt happy, I used to think that I didn’t deserve it.” 

Buffy reaches for her hand under the covers, hating the thought of Faith thinking that she didn’t deserve to be happy. 

“But now,” Faith says, her voice becoming softer, her words coming slower. “I finally feel like I deserve the happiness that I feel.”

“You do,” Buffy says, brushing a strand of Faith’s hair out of her eyes. “We both do.”

//

Looking back on it, Buffy should have known that it was too good to last.

//

Their world falls apart the next morning, and it all starts because of avocados on toast.

“What the hell is that on your plate?” Faith asks, eyeing Buffy’s breakfast skeptically.

“Avocado toast, I think?” Buffy frowns at the green bread on her plate. “It was under the California section of the breakfast menu, so I got it for the sake of reminiscence.”

“Damn Californians,” Faith mutters, blowing at the steam rising from her coffee cup. “Always trying to make shit more fancy and complicated than it’s gotta be. I’m never eating anything from California.”

Buffy raises an eyebrow at that and Faith laughs. “Besides you, B. You’re the exception. But seriously, lemme get you some real food. That shit looks nasty.” She reaches out to take the toast and Buffy pulls her arm back, sending avocado flying through the air to land on Faith’s shirt.

“Really?” Faith mumbles. “Of all the days for me to wear white. You and your damn avocado bread.”

“Sorry,” Buffy laughs. “I’ll get you some napkins.” She gets out of her chair and plants a quick kiss on Faith’s cheek before walking to the front to grab a handful of napkins.

As she leans across the counter for the napkin dispenser, her attention is caught by the tiny TV set that the restaurant owner keeps next to the shelves of plates. There’s a reporter on the screen, talking about a murder that occurred in North Carolina.

“Can you turn that up?” she asks. The girl behind the counter, a tall brunette with stick straight hair, reaches for the volume dial. “That better?”

“Thanks,” Buffy mutters distractedly. She stares at the screen, listening carefully.

“...This brutal murder appears to have been the side effect of a robbery in which the perpetrator got away with thousands of dollars in jewels. Security footage is limited, as the cameras were destroyed, but we managed to get one clip that shows the perpetrator as a blonde Caucasian man in his late twenties.”

The screen shifts to the camera footage, and Buffy’s entire body goes numb.

It’s Spike.

Buffy’s blood goes cold, and she grabs the edge of the counter to keep from falling down. The waitress girl looks at her curiously. “Are you good?”

“The perpetrator also left puzzling graffiti on the side of the building,” the reporter on the screen continues. “There’s a B and an F sprayed onto the side of the jewelry shop, as well as a bloody knife. Pretty badly done, if you ask me...the robber should probably stick to crime...alright, maybe not an appropriate joke right now…”

If Buffy thought she was numb before, it’s nothing compared to what she feels now. Spike’s message couldn’t be clearer. She’s been with him long enough to know exactly what he’s saying.

He’s coming after them.

“Hold on, there’s breaking news coming in,” the reporter says suddenly. “Interpol has contacted us and informed us that the perpetrator is actually a man nicknamed William the Bloody for the coldblooded murders that he committed in England. They’ve been looking for him for a while, and there’s a $100, 000 price on his head. Hey, if any of y’all are tight for money, might wanna try your hand at criminal catching.”

Buffy stumbles away from the counter, the napkins forgotten. Faith looks up at her, confused. “Hey B, what’s wrong?”

“Spike,” Buffy chokes out. “He’s coming for us.”

//

Ten minutes later, they’re back in their room and packing their few belongings. 

Faith throws a shirt into her bag and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Run me through this one more time, B. Why can’t we just stay here? What are the odds that he’ll ever find us at all?”

“We can’t,” Buffy insists. “He will. I know he will. And I couldn’t take it if he found us here. I can’t let anything happen to this town or these people.”

Faith’s expression softens then, and she reaches out to wrap her arms around Buffy. “I know.”

They drive out of town with Faith behind the wheel and Buffy riding shotgun, staring out the window at the place they’re leaving behind. 

“I hate this,” Buffy says bleakly. “I knew we’d be leaving at some point anyways, but I thought it would be because we wanted to move on, not because my psychotic ex-partner in crime wants us dead.”

“We’ll be back someday,” Faith says. She sounds so certain that Buffy almost believes her. “So what’s the plan? I mean, we got the whole country. There’s realistically no way he could find us easily.”

“I think we should go to Boston,” Buffy says. “Maybe your friends there could help us. Plus, I’d feel safer in a city. More people, less chance of him finding us.”

Faith nods. “Makes sense.” 

“I can’t believe that he’s a wanted murderer,” Buffy says, finally addressing the issue that’s been bouncing around her mind since she first watched the news report in the coffee shop. “I always knew he was a criminal and maybe a little bit of a psychopath, but this? I spent almost a year in the company of a murderous felon.”

“Yeah,” Faith grins. “Nice company you keep, B.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Buffy says lightly. “I think I’m coming up in the world. I traded a psychotic murderer for a sexy jewel robber girlfriend. Think that qualifies as a definite upgrade.” 

The car speeds up and Buffy looks over at Faith in the driver’s seat, making a promise to herself that no matter what the cost, she won’t let anything happen to her.

//

“Connecticut fucking sucks,” Faith says moodily, opening the window and dangling her arm outside of the car. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Buffy replies absently, unfolding a road map. 

“Not as bad as Georgia, though,” Faith admits. “Now that was an ugly state.” She pauses for a moment, considering something, then asks, “B, are you sure we should keep drivin’ this way? I mean, if Spike was in North Carolina then it looks like he knows that we’re going up the east coast. Shouldn’t we try shaking him, maybe go west a little?”

“You want to go back to Boston, don’t you?”

Faith bites at her lip nervously. “Of course I do. But I’m just thinking…”

Buffy takes her eyes off the road for long enough to look at Faith, figuring that the traffic in front of her isn’t as important as making sure that her girl is okay. “Are you worried about going back?”

“No! I mean...yeah,” Faith mumbles. “I love that city, I do, and it’ll be good to see my friends and all. I’m just kinda worried about the bad memories that go with.”

Buffy takes one hand off the wheel and reaches for Faith’s hand. “Hey. Don’t worry about it. We can fix bad memories.”

“With what, brainwashing?”

“I was going to say by making good ones instead, but we could try that too.”

//

The next week feels almost the same as the time they spent with Spike. 

They’re back on the run, moving every day, sleeping in shitty hotels (but not motels, because Buffy insists that they could run into Spike that way), sometimes driving through the night. Every time they stop, they check the TV at the motel or diner or gas station, looking for more news on Spike. The reports show that he’s moving up the east coast, somehow evading capture, following the same path as them.

“I feel like a damn criminal again, and we aren’t even guilty this time,” Faith says, sitting down in the faded armchair in the corner of their latest one-star hotel room. “This blows.”

“Yeah,” Buffy says, slumping down on the bed. “I’m worn out. This is more stressful than any crimes I ever committed with Spike. Worse than the police chases I’ve been through. Harder than the alarm system disarming we’ve had to improvise. God, I’m tired”

Faith looks dubious. “Really? Some of that shit does sound harder than running away from a murderer with a shitty bleach job.”

“But there’s more at stake here,” Buffy says softly, “because for the first time, I actually have something to lose. _Someone_ to lose.”

“Oh,” Faith says, realizing.

“Yeah.”

Faith waves her hand in a come-here gesture, and Buffy crosses the room and fits herself in the chair next to her. Buffy leans into Faith, resting her head on her shoulder and wishing that they were as safe as she feels right now.

“We’ll get out of this,” Buffy says. “The whole nation knows that Spike’s on the loose now. The cops will catch him in no time and we’ll be free.”

“Finally a use for the cops,” Faith says with a wry expression. “They never seemed to do much for me before.”

“Spoken like a true criminal,” Buffy comments. “You’ve had run-ins before?”

“I got busted for shoplifting a lot when I was in high school,” Faith admits. “Always could talk my way out, though. Or just run for it.”

“Shoplifting, huh?”

“Just from like, CVS and Target. They got billions of dollars. They’re not gonna worry bout a handful of lipsticks or packs of gum or a two-years-outdated Black & Decker toaster.”

Buffy frowns. “You stole a toaster?"

Faith shoots her a pointed look. 

“Alright,” she says, starting to laugh. “So it’s a little bit ridiculous for me to question you stealing a toaster when we’ve stolen priceless jewels and a lot more.”

They sit in silence for a moment, Faith playing with a strand of Buffy’s hair, and then Buffy speaks again.

“Faith, what do you want to do with life? After we deal with the Spike problem, I mean.”

“Hm,” Faith says, her hands still tangled in Buffy’s hair. “Dunno, really. I never thought that much about the future. But it’d be nice to have a little apartment with a balcony, maybe one that’s near a park. I got no degree but I guess I could work as a mechanic or something. I’ve always been kinda good with my hands.”

“Oh, I know,” Buffy says. “Sorry. Keep going.”

“I’d want to be a super rich mechanic, so I could buy a vacation house somewhere near the beach, and I’d just live, ya know? I’d just live and be happy.”

“That sounds nice,” Buffy says sleepily, as her eyes start to close. 

“And,” Faith says hesitantly, “I’d wanna do all that with you.”

“Then we will,” Buffy says. “We’ll do it all.”

They fall asleep curled up in the same chair, the bed completely forgotten, and Buffy’s last thought before falling asleep is that Faith is the only future she truly needs.

//

It’s around noon the next day when they finally cross into Massachusetts. Faith lets out a yell and sticks her head out the window when they see the “Welcome to the Bay State” sign, and Buffy has to pull her back in before she falls out onto the road.

“Boston should be pretty close from here,” Faith says once she’s sitting down again. “We just gotta go through bumfuck western Mass to get there.”

“Sounds good to me,” Buffy says, reaching for the radio dial. “You want a soundtrack to accompany the end of our road trip movie?”

She plays Dreams by the Cranberries and the two of them sink back into their seats, letting the music wash over them as Faith lazily kicks her feet up on the dashboard and watches Buffy drive.

“What?” Buffy asks. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” Faith assures her. “Just enjoying the view.”

//

“We need gas,” Buffy announces a couple hours later, noting that the needle on the gas gauge is almost on E. “I’m pulling over at this station.”

“Works for me,” Faith says. “I gotta pee and I’m craving some Twix right now anyway.”

Buffy fills the tank while Faith goes into the gas station, and she’s putting the nozzle away when Faith reappears. “Park the car and come in, B. I wanna get a fuckton of snacks. I’m starving.”

“You had a huge breakfast,” Buffy reminds her as she pulls the car into a space directly in front of the building. 

“Yeah, and all you had was a nonfat yogurt. You gotta eat something better.”

“Ah yeah, I forgot that gas station snacks are the peak of healthy eating,” Buffy comments drily, locking the car and following Faith inside.

Faith walks through the aisles like a woman on a mission, sweeping up armfuls of chip bags and candy bars as she goes, and Buffy walks behind her, picking up the things that fall to the floor. The cashier’s eyes go wide when they go to the counter to pay, but Faith doesn’t bat an eye, sliding a handful of twenties over the counter and taking her receipt with a cheery smile. 

“This is what, enough calories for a week?” Buffy asks as they walk back out to the car. “I’m throwing most of this stuff in the back.”

“Fine,” Faith says, pulling open the Camaro’s door and letting a cascade of corn chips and chocolate bars rain down on the front seat. “But I’m keeping the Twix up front, I don’t want to…” Her voice trails off, and Buffy turns to see what’s made her freeze. Her heart stops when she sees what it is.

Spike is standing near the gas pumps across from them, his hair a mess and his coat ragged, and he’s pointing a gun at them.

“Found you,” he says, with a sickening sense of triumph. “Took me ages of looking through turnpike footage for my car, but I found you and I followed you. And now here I am. Funny how it works out, innit?”

“Spike,” Buffy exhales, lifting her hands slowly. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret, okay?”

“Oh, I won’t regret anything, love,” Spike says nastily, a horrible grin creeping onto his face. “I won’t regret when I shoot your precious Faith, or when I take my car back and run it over her dead body, or when I finally teach you some _respect_.”

Faith’s hands tighten into clenched fists. “Don’t call her that.”

“ _Faith_ ,” Buffy whispers. “Not the most pressing issue right now.”

“Why not?” Spike asks. “Is she yours now? You think she’s your bitch? You think you can just take her away from me like the little whore you are?”

Faith raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You kiss your mama with that mouth, bleach boy?”

Spike brandishes the gun at them. “Get away from the car.”

Buffy takes a slow step away from the door, but Faith doesn’t move.

“Faith, away from the car. Buffy, get in.”

Neither of them move.

“GO!” Spike yells, firing a shot straight up in the air. Buffy jumps, looking around furiously for help - surely someone heard that gunshot - but the gas station parking lot is deserted. 

“That was your warning,” Spike snaps at Faith. “You can either get shot now, or shot a little bit later when you’ve moved away from my car. Your choice.”

“Ain’t much of a choice then, is it,” Faith deadpans.

Spike shakes the gun around even more. “I’m leaving this petrol station with my car and Buffy, or I’m not leaving at all.” 

“Then you ain’t leaving,” Faith says, and Buffy can hear the determination in her voice. She watches detachedly as Spike’s arm brings the gun down and aims it at Faith’s chest, and then she’s on the move, diving in front of Faith. The gun goes off with a deafening bang, and then she feels an agonizing burst of pain. 

Buffy slumps to the pavement next to the car, feeling like her chest is exploding, and watches through half closed eyes. She catches vague flashes of movement, hears a car door slam, hears another gunshot, but none of that seems important anymore. She closes her eyes for a moment, and suddenly she feels someone’s arms around her. 

“B,” someone says, and Buffy vaguely recognizes it as Faith’s voice. “B, stay with me. Stay awake, okay? I’m gonna get you help. You’re fine.” 

The last thing that Buffy’s aware of is Faith’s lips gently pressing against her forehead, and then the world goes black.

//

The world is a sky of swirling darkness, and Buffy dreams of a room with a large bed and clean blankets. 

She smooths a sheet down, tucking it under the corner of the bed, and finds that someone is helping her. She looks up to see Faith standing there, folding her side of the sheet under in a terrible approximation of a hospital corner.

“Faith?” Buffy asks, trying to reach towards her. The air feels like syrup, and her vision is hazy, but Faith is more important than any of that, so Buffy keeps pushing.

“Looks nice, doesn’t it?” Faith asks, gesturing at the bed, which now has a blanket folded neatly on top. 

“Really nice,” Buffy answers sleepily. “I think that I want to lie down for a while.”

Faith reaches out and grabs her wrist, her grip tight and unrelenting. “You can’t.”

“Why?” Buffy asks. Her eyes are heavy and her limbs feel like lead and she wants nothing more than to sink down on this perfectly made bed and sleep for eternity.

“You can’t,” Faith says urgently. “You just can’t, okay?”

“Okay,” Buffy says, and she means it because she’d do anything for Faith, but her eyes are already starting to close.

Suddenly Faith’s standing right in front of her, and her hands are on Buffy’s shoulders, shaking her. “Wake up, B. You have to wake up.”

“Faith?” Buffy asks, confused. “What - what’s going on?”

“You have to wake up,” Faith repeats. “Please. I’ll see you on the other side.” She leans forward and kisses Buffy’s forehead in a way that seems very familiar, and then the room dissolves into blackness.

“Wait!” Buffy says. “Faith, come back!” 

There’s no answer, so Buffy takes a step forward, and then another, even though movement is starting to feel all but impossible. She stumbles forward through the torturous darkness, putting one foot in front of another again and again, and tells herself that it’ll be worth it to find Faith.

But walking is too much work, and there’s no light anywhere, and Buffy sinks to her knees exhaustedly. 

“Faith,” she calls into the darkness, with the last of her strength. “Faith.” 

//

_Faith._

Buffy opens her eyes and instantly wishes she hadn’t as her vision is instantly assaulted by blindingly bright fluorescent lights. 

“Fuck,” she mumbles, squinting against the harsh illumination. 

“Buffy?” someone says, and Buffy turns towards the familiar voice. “Buffy, can you hear me?”

Buffy opens her eyes again, carefully this time, and sees Faith sitting at her bedside. Faith’s hair is a tangled mess, her shirt is wrinkled beyond belief, and her eyes are smudged with dark circles and smeared mascara.

Buffy thinks she’s never looked more beautiful. 

“Faith,” Buffy says, her voice barely above a raspy whisper. 

“Don’t go straining yourself,” Faith says. “Here.” She hands Buffy a cup of water, guides it to her lips and waits patiently as Buffy drinks. 

“Where are we? What happened?” Buffy asks after a moment. 

“Boston Hospital. Spike shot you,” Faith says, and Buffy’s chest throbs in pain as she starts to remember. She looks down to see that her torso is wrapped in layers and layers of white bandages, and an IV runs from her arm to a machine nearby. “Doc says you were lucky and it hit a rib. Otherwise…” Her voice trails off, and she squeezes Buffy’s hand a little too tightly.

“Spike,” Buffy says slowly. “Where is he?”

“Jail,” Faith says. “Awaiting trial.”

“But didn’t he have a gun? How did you...”

“Backed up and hit him with the car right after he shot you,” Faith says, a hint of a smile returning to her face. “Pretty much totaled it, but hey, I’m fine with that. I never wanna see that car again in my life.”

“He survived?”

“Unfortunately.”

Buffy starts to laugh, wincing as her ribs flare in pain. “I can’t believe you ran him over.”

“Hey,” Faith smirks. “I see a felon, I floor it. Damn shame that he even survived, if you ask me.” 

Buffy smiles at that, eyes closing again, and Faith squeezes her hand again. “Hey, you should probably get some more rest. I’ll call the nurse lady, tell her you woke up.”

“Okay,” Buffy says, “but don’t go too far, okay?”

“Not going anywhere,” Faith promises. 

Faith is safely by her side and that’s pretty much all Buffy has ever wanted, so she closes her eyes and lets herself slide back into sleep, injured worse than she’s ever been in her life but feeling safe in the knowledge that Faith will be there when she wakes up.

//

It takes almost a week of lying around in bed letting nurses bring her food and change her sheets and basically wipe her ass, but Buffy is finally let out of the hospital, albeit in a wheelchair. 

“Standard procedure,” the doctor says sternly when Buffy tries to protest. “Would you rather not leave at all, Ms Summers?” 

Buffy shuts up after that.

Faith’s in charge of pushing her wheelchair, and while Buffy likes that in theory, she’s still a tiny bit worried about how Faith will handle steering the chair through the crowded streets of Boston.

“Be careful, alright?” she says, taking one hand off the arm rest to grab Faith’s hand quickly. “I know all about your driving skills.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t use you and your wheelchair to run anyone over,” Faith promises. “I’ve fulfilled my yearly quota of hit-and-running criminals.” She grabs the wheelchair handles and kisses Buffy on the cheek before pushing the chair out through the hospital doors. 

Outside, the sky is a pale blue with a few small puffy clouds drifting across it, and the sunshine is pouring down. After so long in the quiet hospital, the sounds of people shouting and horns honking and dogs barking is a little overwhelming, but Buffy takes it all in stride because it’s proof that she’s alive and present in this moment, and that’s worth a little noise pollution anyday.

“So where are we going?” she asks. “Another motel?

“Naw,” Faith says. “Motels are for criminals. Crime-fighting heroes like us deserve a five star hotel.”

//

“I can’t believe we’re here,” Buffy says. 

“True that,” Faith replies. “Who woulda thought?”

They’re sitting in a hot tub in the bathroom of their room at the Ritz-Carlton Boston, sipping from champagne glasses and looking out the tall windows at the sparkling lights of downtown. Even with the amazing view that they’re getting from the top floor of the building, Buffy would sort of rather look at Faith. 

(She’d always rather look at Faith.)

Faith takes a sip of champagne and makes a face. “This really ain’t worth a hundred bucks a bottle.”

“Too refined for your tastes, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely. You know me, B. I’m more of a cheap beer or straight tequila gal.” Faith looks at the glass for a moment, then shrugs and tips it back. “Still, may as well, since we’re celebratin’ and all.” 

Buffy laughs, and a second later, grabs at her ribs as they twinge in protest. 

“You okay?” Faith asks, looking concerned. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Buffy assures her. “Just a little cramp.” 

Faith moves through the water towards her, running her fingers over Buffy’s skin gently. “This hurt?”

“No,” Buffy says. “S’fine.” She looks down at her stomach and tries not to wince when she sees the place where the bullet went in, the skin puckered and raised and red around the edges. “That’s gonna be kind of ugly,” she says with a grimace. “There goes my spot in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue.” 

Faith waves a hand through the air dismissively. “Don’t sweat it, B. Chicks dig scars.” 

Buffy can’t help but laugh. “Are you chicks?”

“Do I dig it? Hell yeah. You look perfect, scars or not.” Faith bends down and kisses the spot lightly. “See? Perfect.” Buffy feels herself starting to heat up, and it’s not just because they’re sitting in a hot tub. 

As if she’s reading Buffy’s mind, Faith smirks at her. “Hey B, remember the last time we were in a hot tub?”

“Not really,” Buffy says offhandedly. “You might have to remind me.” 

Faith leans in to kiss her, and Buffy forgets all about her bullet wound.

//

“You know,” Buffy says, a while later. (A _long_ time later.) “This place is nice and all, but it’s probably mad expensive. I’m not sure how this is going to fit in our budget, not after the hospital bills.” 

Faith’s been splashing the water around in little waves to amuse herself, but now she stops. “Oh, I forgot to tell ya, huh?”  
Buffy frowns. “Tell me what?” 

“Remember how Spike had a price on his head from the Interpol guys?”

“Yeah…”

“Well.” Faith grins widely. “Turns out that running him over and dragging his injured ass to the cops still counts as turning him in.”

“Oh,” Buffy says, the realization dawning on her. “So you mean?...”

“Yeah. We’re kinda rich.”

“They didn’t care about me, huh?” Buffy asks, a little put out. “I _was_ an accomplice and all.” 

Faith shrugs. “Turns out that when they catch a wanted murderer, they tend to forget about a partner in crime who never even shot anyone.”

“Wow,” Buffy says, blinking. “We’re rich, Faith.”

“I know.” 

“Like, _really_ rich.” 

“I know,” Faith repeats.

“Even as a criminal I never had this much money,” Buffy says, with not a little awe in her voice.

“Me either,” Faith replies. “Now, I ain’t saying we should blow it all on takeout and sports cars and those cool things that can toast and microwave at the same time. But…”

“But?”

Faith smiles, her dimples showing as she does, and Buffy leans forward to kiss her cheek. “How’d ya feel about getting an apartment here?”

//

The couch looks warm and comfortable, and Faith’s just settled down on it when Buffy jabs her in the side. “Get up, Faith,” she whispers. “It’s not ours yet.” 

Faith mumbles some complaints as she stands up and stretches, and Buffy rolls her eyes at that, but secretly she feels the same way as Faith. This is their third apartment tour, and the first one that’s felt absolutely right. It’s a small apartment, with one bedroom and one bathroom and a small office with a fold-out couch, but the windows are large and the kitchen is comfortable and there’s even a tiny balcony outside the living room. Buffy can almost see herself and Faith here already, can picture Faith lounging on the couch and watching TV with her or walking around the kitchen juggling peppers as they cook dinner. 

They’ve never been all that domestic, but Buffy figures that they’ve got a lot of time to learn.

“So do you want to rent here?” the landlady asks. 

Buffy exchanges a look with Faith, and she knows they’re in agreement on this one. “Yes,” she says. 

“Perfect,” the landlady says, smiling at them in a clearly fake way. Maybe she’s got problems with Faith trying out the sofa before they’ve bought the place. Buffy has to admit that Faith’s shoes aren’t the cleanest, but it’s not like there are visible dirt stains or anything. “If you’ll just fill out this paperwork…”

Buffy exchanges another look with Faith, this one panicked, because she knows next to nothing about paperwork or credit scores or the process that normal, law-abiding people go through to rent apartments. Faith just looks relaxed.

“I called our lawyer friend to help take care of that,” she says. “He should be here any second.” 

Sure enough, within a few minutes, there’s a knock on the door and Buffy pulls it open to find a tall, solidly built man in a trench coat standing outside. He smiles at Buffy, a genuine smile that’s nothing like the landlady’s insincere grimace, and sticks out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Angel.”

The landlady looks over at him with a confused but painfully polite expression. “I’m sorry, did you say your name was _Angel_?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Angel says, walking over to her. “I’m here to help sort out the girls’ rental paperwork.”

“Oh,” the landlady says. “See, the thing is, we usually don’t let outside parties become involved with rental processes…” The rest of her sentence fades away as Angel stands up even taller so that he’s towering over her, still smiling politely. “Ah, that is, here are the papers, sir.”

Buffy and Faith collapse back onto the couch, laughing, and Angel picks up the pen.

//

“So this is your apartment now,” Angel says, after the landlady has been satisfied with the paperwork and ushered out of the apartment. “Happy with it?"

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Faith says, her casual tone belied by the happiness on her face. “Thanks for comin’, Angel.”

“Hey, now,” Angel says. “I wasn’t going to leave my high school best friend high and dry.” He leans against the counter. “So you guys have a hell of a story, huh?”

Buffy frowns. “How do you know that?”

Angel chuckles, pulling a newspaper out of his coat pocket. “Well, you’re kind of famous.” He hands the paper to Buffy, and she stares at the headline. It features a picture of Faith dragging an unconscious Spike into the Boston police station, and the headline reads “Girl Grabs Gangster.” 

“Hey, check it out,” Faith says, grinning. “Didn't even know there were cameras, but what do ya know. I’m front page news.”

“So there’s a story here, right?” Angel says.

“There is,” Buffy confirms. 

“But,” Faith continues, “it’s a story for another time. We’ve got important things to do with our new apartment.” She raises a suggestive eyebrow at Buffy.

“Right!” Buffy exclaims, suddenly feeling a little hot. She wonders vaguely if the heat is on in the apartment. “Lots of stuff to do. Bedspreads to buy, curtain colors to choose, pots and pans to procure…”

Angel spreads his hands. “Alright, I get the hint. Just promise me that I’ll get the whole story at some point.” 

“Of course,” Buffy says. “We’ll have you over for dinner as soon as we’re settled here.” 

Angel walks out the door with a wave and a smile, and Faith turns to Buffy. “So, that couch.” 

“Yeah?”

“It’s ours now, and I say we test it out.” 

“Hm,” Buffy says. “Sounds like a solid idea. You sure you don’t want to take a nap on it first? You seemed pretty ready for that back when the landlady was fake smiling at us…”

Faith rolls her eyes and pulls Buffy in for a kiss. “Shut up, B.”

“Shutting up,” Buffy mumbles against her lips. 

They’re lying down on the couch, Faith on top of Buffy and pulling up the edge of her shirt while pushing her back into the insanely comfortable cushions, when there’s a knock at the door. Buffy gets up to answer it, and Faith makes a noise of frustration. 

“I’ll be right back,” Buffy assures her. “Hang tight.” She opens the door to see a short redheaded girl and a taller girl with braided hair standing there, both smiling, the redhead holding a casserole dish.

“Hi,” the taller one says. “I’m Tara and this is Willow. We live right down the hall in 419, and we just wanted to welcome you to the building.”

“Yeah, if there’s anything you guys need, just let us know,” the redhead chimes in. “We’re only two doors away.” She hands the dish in her hands to Buffy, who almost drops it. 

“Thanks,” Buffy says, her focus still on the couch with Faith. “Yeah, we’ll come visit. See you around.” She shuts the door in their faces as politely as she can and sets the casserole dish on the kitchen counter before turning back to the couch to see that Faith already has a hand down the front of her own pants. 

“Couldn’t wait, huh?” Buffy asks, settling down on the couch, on top of Faith this time.  
“You decided to answer the door,” Faith says breathlessly. “What was I gonna do, wait?”

“Yes,” Buffy says. “But it doesn’t matter now. As long as I’m on top for once…” She leans down and starts kissing Faith’s neck, and Faith abruptly stops complaining. 

//

“Wow,” Faith says, a couple hours later. “This couch really is comfortable.”

“Sure is,” Buffy agrees. “You think the bed is this comfortable?”

Faith hums in thought. “Maybe. You think we should try it to be sure?”

“Absolutely. Just to be sure.” 

//

They settle into the apartment and find a new rhythm. Buffy wakes up first most days, and she usually lies in bed and watches Faith sleep for a while, quietly enjoying the fact that she can wake up next to her girl in the same bed every morning. Then she gets up to make coffee, and Faith makes her way into the kitchen when she smells the caffeine brewing.

There’s a park near their apartment, one with green grass and shady trees and enough space to throw a Frisbee or walk a dog, and Buffy loves going there on sunny days. Faith spreads a blanket out for them and Buffy makes a joke about how she’s goth because the blanket is always a black one, and they lie under the sun and listen to music until they start to burn.

At night they sit out on the balcony and hold hands and listen to a different kind of music - the cars and people of the city. 

Neither of them drive. They use the subway and slowly learn the layout of the streets - or re-learn it, in Faith’s case - and no one rides shotgun or sits behind a steering wheel, but it’s alright in a different sort of way.

Angel comes over for dinner once a week, and so do Willow and Tara, after Faith and Buffy become friends with them. They eat takeout for dinner at the kitchen counter and drink cheap wine and laugh until they cry, and slowly the five of them start to feel like a family.

Willow teaches them to thrift, and Buffy’s not big on it, but Faith becomes obsessed. 

“Why would you want to wear someone’s old clothes?” Buffy will say. “We’re rich enough to buy any clothes you want.”

“Not the point, B,” Faith will reply, admiring her newest vintage jacket or faded band t-shirt. “The point of thrifting is the hunt. What’s the fun in just picking up something new from the fancy-ass stores down Newbury?”

Buffy will roll her eyes fondly, but she’ll forget all her criticisms when the new piece of clothing hits the floor next to their bed and Faith is making her writhe under the covers. 

Buffy sinks into this new life, embracing it wholeheartedly, and Faith does the same. After so long running from place to place, it’s nice to have a home they can call their own, nice to feel solidly grounded for once. June and July slip by in a blur of happiness and summer sunshine. 

And Buffy looks around and knows that she’s finally gotten the better life that she once could only dream of.

//

August comes around and time slows down, hours passing by like honey dripping from a spoon, the days and nights hotter than the inside of an oven. The air conditioner breaks twice and Faith and Buffy lie on their bed in nothing but t-shirts, windows thrown as wide open as they can go to attract a breeze that isn’t there.

The heat is oppressive, and it wraps around the city like fog, settling into the corners. Buffy is hot and sweaty and irritable. Faith cuts her black shirts into crop tops, and they’re almost as short as her temper. 

Faith snaps. Buffy snaps back at her. They end up in the shower, cool water pouring down on them, apologizing with their hands between each others’ legs. 

One night, Faith disappears and doesn’t come back until two in the morning. Buffy falls asleep before she comes home and wakes up before she does, noticing that Faith’s eyeliner is smeared down her cheeks and smudged across the bridge of her nose. Buffy gently wipes it away, wondering what happened to Faith, who never cries.

She gets up and makes coffee, and waits for Faith to come into the kitchen. When she does, almost an hour later, she barely says a word to Buffy.

“Hey,” Buffy says carefully, pushing a coffee mug over to her. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Faith mumbles. “This shit is too hot. We got any ice cubes?”

“There’s some in the freezer,” Buffy answers, watching as Faith stumbles over to the fridge and pulls open the freezer drawer and drops a handful of ice cubes into her mug. 

“Fuck,” Faith curses, the mug slipping out of her fingers and smashing against the floor. “Fuck. Hold on. I’ll get the mop.”

“Wait,” Buffy says, reaching out for Faith’s hand. “Faith, wait. Are you okay?”  
  
“Five by five, B,” Faith says after a moment, not quite meeting Buffy’s eyes. “Just let me clean up the mess and we’ll be all good.” 

Buffy sits down on the couch, watches as Faith mechanically scrubs at the floor. She knows something’s up with Faith, but she doesn’t want to push too hard, not when Faith’s expression looks like that. 

_It might just be the heat,_ she reasons. _It makes me irrational, too. August in the city is like being smothered inside a blanket. We need a fresh breeze, a clean wave…_

And then the idea hits her.

Buffy jumps up from the couch, heading for the door. “I’ll be right back,” she says over her shoulder. “Going to see Willow and Tara for a bit.” She walks down the hall and pounds at the door of apartment 419.

Willow invites her in and offers her coffee and water and four types of herbal tea, but Buffy doesn’t have time for that.

“Will,” she says, sitting down at the dining room table. “I need your help with something.”

Half an hour later, Buffy goes back to her apartment with a map in her hand and a set of keys in her pocket. Faith is sitting on the couch, eyes still red, staring listlessly into space.

“Hey,” Buffy says, and Faith looks up. “This may be too soon, but do you want to go on a little road trip?”

//

Three hours later they’re on the road in the car that Buffy borrowed from Willow and Tara’s friend Amy, the windows down and the radio blasting. A dry, cool wind whips through the car, and it’s so refreshing after the suffocating humidity of the city that Buffy almost cries, but she holds it in because she figures it’ll be pretty hard to drive with tears in her eyes.

Faith’s sitting in shotgun, still not talking much, but starting to look happier. She’s stopped frowning, and her eyes are half-closed, looking more relaxed than she has in days.

“So you’re not telling me where we’re going?” she asks.

Buffy glances at her, relieved to see that her face is clear of makeup smears and her eyes are no longer red. “Nope,” she replies, glancing at the map that she’s holding in one hand. 

“This is some deja vu,” Faith says. “Least you don’t have me blindfolded this time.” 

“I could if you wanted,” Buffy says jokingly. 

“Nah.” Faith shakes her head. “Save that for the bedroom tonight.” And Buffy watches as the corner of Faith’s mouth turns up - finally - into a smile.

//

It’s another couple of hours before they get where they’re going, and Buffy takes a few wrong turns, but finally she spots the sign at the edge of the road that reads “Provincetown, 10 Miles” and sighs in relief.

“Provincetown?” Faith frowns. “What’s that?”

“You’re about to find out,” Buffy replies. “Have a little patience.”

“Not one of my strong points, B. You know that.”

Buffy doesn’t answer and Faith makes a big show of yawning impatiently, but a few minutes later they’re on the edge of town, and Buffy doesn’t need to backhand Faith after all.

“Whoa,” Faith says, her head halfway out the window. “What _is_ this place?”

Buffy slows the car down, steering carefully along the narrow street, and they both look around wildly, because they’ve never seen anything like Provincetown.

It’s another beach town, even smaller and prettier than the one in Delaware, with pastel-colored houses and picket fences covered in rose vines. The ocean is visible off to their right, stretching out infinitely and sparkling in the late-afternoon sunshine, and the streets are filled with people. The overall vibe is one of comfort and community.

But the most outstanding part of the town is the flags.

Rainbow colored flags fly everywhere, proudly in full view. The pizza shop on the left has a rainbow poster plastered to the window, and the bar up ahead has a faded rainbow flag hanging from an open door, right next to the sign advertising half-price margaritas.

Faith turns to Buffy, raises an eyebrow. “You brought me to some kinda gay wonderland?”

“The point was the beach,” Buffy says. “The rainbows are just icing on the cake.”

“Pretty gay cake,” Faith mutters, a smile breaking out on her face. “Where are we goin’ now?”

//

Willow and Tara’s house is a pale green cottage tucked away on a side street, and their car barely fits into the driveway. Buffy manages to pull in and park and then she and Faith spill out of the car with their lightly packed bags, staring at the tiny house in front of them.

“You got Red and Tara to lend us their house _and_ their car?” Faith says. “Damn, you’re good.” She gives Buffy a quick kiss and swipes the house keys from her hand, jumping the wooden stairs in one bound to unlock the door.

The house is even more charming inside than it is outside. There’s a tiny kitchen, a living room with mismatched chairs and a woven rug, and a bathroom the size of their shower at home. A narrow staircase leads to a loft bedroom, which displays a skylight in the roof.

Best of all, there’s a deck out back - a grey and splintery deck, but a deck all the same - and it leads directly to the beach. 

Faith looks around the house in seconds, declares it to be “thoroughly bitchin’,” and drags Buffy out to sit on the deck with her.

“You really did this for me?” she asks, glancing at Buffy with a soft look.

“Well not for you _specifically_ ,” Buffy says, sitting down on the deck next to her. “I wanted to come here too. But...yeah.”

Faith reaches for her hand, and Buffy lets her take it. “Look, B, I owe you an explanation. And an apology. See, the thing is...” 

Buffy waits for her to keep going, not saying a word. 

Faith inhales deeply, exhales slowly. “The other night when I came home late, it was cause I was at Angel’s and I didn’t ask you to go along cause I was asking him about my mom.” 

“Oh,” Buffy says, starting to understand.

Faith bites her lip, looks down for a moment, then back at Buffy. “He said she died about a month after she...ya know, sent me away.”

“I’m sorry, Faith,” Buffy says quietly. “I had no idea.”

“It’s not like I never saw it coming,” Faith says. “Between the drugs and the drinking, it was only a matter of time. And it’s not like she was the world’s best mother or anything. It’s just…”

“It’s okay,” Buffy says, smoothing Faith’s hair back. “I get it.” 

“Anyways,” Faith continues. “That’s why I’ve been on edge. I know I’ve been kinda bitchy to you, and I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Buffy repeats. “I’m here for you, Faith. No matter what.” 

Faith leans into her then, lets herself fall into Buffy’s arms in a way that she usually wouldn’t, and they sit there for a moment, Buffy holding Faith, both of them staring out at the waves in the harbor.

Finally Faith straightens up and looks around again. “This is perfect, B,” she says, all traces of sadness gone. “It’s the vacation home I’ve always wanted.”

“Well, it’s Willow and Tara’s vacation home,” Buffy says. “But I’m sure that we could forge our names onto the lease somehow.” 

“Course we could,” Faith replies. “We aren’t ex-criminals for nothing.” Her dimple flashes as she smiles and Buffy leans in to kiss it, and right there and then, on a summer afternoon, sitting ten feet from the ocean on the deck of a beach house in the prettiest town in America, she’s never loved Faith more. 

//

They eat dinner in the pizza shop with the rainbow posters, and Faith orders a side of fries to dip in her milkshake, and no one else in the restaurant seems disgusted or even surprised when Buffy kisses away the drops of ice cream on Faith’s cheek. When they walk back to the house, the streetlights guide them home, illuminating the cobbled streets and the silhouettes of the flags waving overhead, and Faith looks perfect in their yellow glow.

Buffy looks over at Faith, nineteen and a half years old and beautiful as a daydream as she spins around under the streetlights and the darkening night sky and a row of flags that make her proud to love who she does, and thinks, _This is the girl I want to spend the rest of my life with._

When they get back to the house, Faith looks at Buffy with a wicked smile. “You tired yet?”

Buffy shakes her head. 

“Me neither,” Faith says. “Do you wanna go night swimming?”

Faith drops her clothes to the floor of the deck and jumps directly into the ocean, the tide having risen high enough that the water is almost level with the deck. Buffy doesn’t hesitate for a second before she sheds her clothes and follows Faith. 

The water is a little chilly even for August, but Buffy quickly stops caring about that when Faith presses her up against the deck and slips a hand between her thighs.

“Faith,” Buffy says breathlessly, not even trying to pretend that she wants to stop. “The neighbors might see us.” 

Faith scoffs. “They won’t see shit. But if you want, I can stop.” She starts to withdraw her hand, and Buffy grabs her wrist.

“Don’t you dare,” Buffy says quickly, and Faith smirks.

Afterwards, they make their way up to the loft bed without even bothering to shower first. They lie wrapped in each other’s arms, their hair still thick with salt, and Buffy falls asleep with her head resting against Faith’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her heart.

//

Buffy wakes up the next morning to find the bed empty of Faith but full of sand. There’s a note resting on her pillow that reads “Come downstairs for coffee. F” in Faith’s messy scribble. She smiles and brushes the sand off of the bedcovers before getting up.

Downstairs, the clock over the microwave reads eight thirty in the morning and Faith - Faith, who never wakes up before at least ten am if she can help it - is standing in front of the stove, using a spatula to poke at a watery mess inside a cast-iron skillet.

“Oh hey, B,” she says. “Sleep well? Ya sure slept in.”

“This coming from the girl who usually won't get up before ten in the morning?” Buffy says, arching an eyebrow. “What’s in the pan?”

Faith looks embarrassed. “Supposed to be pancakes cause I found a mix in the cupboard, but I think I fucked it up.” 

“I think you did, too,” Buffy says, pointing to the smoke now curling from the pan. “Maybe we should go out for breakfast.”

“Maybe we should,” Faith says with a rueful smile. She drops the pan in the sink and reaches for her shoes, and Buffy admires the view as she bends over.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” Faith says, turning around. 

“Yeah, I know,” Buffy replies, holding open the door for her. “And?”

Faith grins at her. “And nothing, B. Just sayin’.”

//

They get iced coffees and bagels and breakfast pastries from a tiny coffee shop on Main Street and start walking back to the house. Along the way, Faith stops to steal a rose from someone’s garden.

“It’s not stealing,” Faith corrects, handing the flower to Buffy. “It’s just borrowing.”

“Oh?” Buffy says, accepting it nonetheless. “Are you planning on returning it to them?”

“Of course, if they ask for it,” Faith says. “What do ya think I am, a criminal?”

Buffy starts laughing, and Faith joins in, and their laughter carries them all the way back to the house.

//

“Look,” Buffy says, pointing up at the sky. 

They’re sitting on the deck again, the pastries and bagels eaten, the empty coffee cups rattling with melting ice cubes. Faith looks in the direction that Buffy’s pointing. “What am I looking at?” she asks. 

“Remember that time when I said that I wanted to look at the future and see actual possibilities?” Buffy says. “Well, now I see them.” 

Faith smiles. “I do, too.” She stands up and takes Buffy by the hand, climbing down the deck to the sand. Buffy follows, thinking of everything she’s gone through to get to this moment and knowing that she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Buffy already has the world, and she’s holding her hand right now.

They stand at the water’s edge and when Buffy meets Faith’s eyes, she sees nothing but affection in them. She feels so much love for Faith that her heart feels like it’s swelling up, and she presses her hand to her chest. 

“What’s wrong?” Faith asks, suddenly concerned. “Your scar?”

Buffy shakes her head. “Just...you. Right here.” She taps her heart lightly.

“Shot through the heart, huh?” Faith says, laughing at the ironic joke behind her statement. “Don’t go all Bon Jovi on me, B. You know I like Guns N’ Roses better.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Buffy smiles. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

Faith leans in and Buffy does too, and they are two girls kissing on a beach in summer under a cloudless sky, and the future belongs to them. 

  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/thymewars)


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